The Bachelor
by GameOn
Summary: AU. Meet Richard Castle, playboy mystery writer and reality television latest star. Beckett's undercover to bust a drug ring and part of her cover involves getting very close to one of New York's most eligible bachelors. The strait-laced cop isn't charmed by his flirty banter and she won't chase after him like the female contestants on the show. She's out to cuff him, not jump him.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"What have we got Ryan?" Detective Beckett ducks under the yellow crime scene tape and nods at the uniform who was keeping the gawkers from getting too close. Even at this late hour of the night there always seemed to be people who were morbidly attracted to the scene of death.

The other detective looks up from the notes that he was making on the pad and walks over to join her at the end of the alleyway. "Our vic is Sean Pritchard, thirty-eight year old from Queens and a member of the Barracudas motorcycle gang. He's a charming character, fifteen convictions for aggravated burglary before graduating to second degree murder." Ryan looks down briefly to check his notes. "He only got out of Sing-Sing four months ago. There aren't any outside security cameras on this block but the barman next door said that Sean came in for a drink about two hours ago and spent about fifteen minutes talking to another guy before they both left together."

Beckett looks over the sprawled remains of Pritchard. No matter what the man had done in life he was now a victim and, as such, she would do her utmost to catch his killer. "Ok, let's get him to work with our sketch artist. I want to see what our mystery man looked like."

"Will do boss." Ryan nods and shuffles off to organize it.

"Hey Lanie," Beckett greets her friend who was kneeling down by the body. The M.E. was completing her assessment of the crime scene before the body was moved. "What can you tell me?"

Despite the late hour the Dr Parish still looked immaculately put together, the only thing that looked out of place were the blue latex gloves on her hands that clashed with the otherwise faultless suit that she was wearing. "Our boy here suffered a single GSW to the head. He didn't even have enough warning to put up a fight, there are no defensive injuries. I'll do the standard tox screen once I get him back to the lab but COD looks to be pretty evident. I found this tucked in his wallet." The ME holds out a plastic evidence bag containing a scrap of paper, it had a ten digit number on it.

"Thanks." Beckett takes the packet and examines the number briefly. It looked to be a phone number; she'd run it through the reverse phone directory and see what popped. Another fifteen minutes and her shift would have been over and she'd been looking forward to a long soak in the bath and a glass of wine, now it looks like she'd be lucky to get home before dawn.

* * *

The detective rubs her eyes to ward off the tiredness that threatened. She hadn't seen her bed in over twenty hours and counting. It had taken three hours to finish interviewing the other witnesses from the bar and then she'd tracked down Pritchard's next-of-kin to inform them of his death. His mother had barely blinked when Beckett had knocked on her door; she'd been more annoyed that her sleep had been interrupted than by anything else.

"Good riddance, that boy was scum," and then she'd shuffled back to bed again.

Beckett reflected on that mother's reaction as she stares at the murder board hoping for inspiration. How sad was it when your own mother didn't mourn your death?

The number that Lanie had found, if it was indeed a phone number, was listed to a television production company. She'd have Esposito check it out this morning but she couldn't see any connection between a bikie gang member and the company. It might just turn out to be a dead end.

Beckett rubs the back of her neck and rolls her shoulders to ease the knotted muscles. She'd sent the boys home a couple of hours ago and it might be time for her to hit the sack as well. She was starting to see double and tiredness was preventing her from getting anywhere on this case. A few hours of sleep and she'd come back to the case with fresh eyes.

* * *

Ryan looks up from his monitor as Beckett strolls into the bullpen a few hours later. "Hey Beckett, we've managed to identify the man from the bar."

"Good work Ryan." The brunette continues to her desk and places her cup of coffee carefully beside her keyboard. She takes off her heavy jacket, draping it over the back of her chair.

The other detective walks to the murder board and attaches a mug shot to it. "Justin Peterman, he belongs to a rival gang." Ryan points at the photo. "The Barracudas and the 17K gang have been engaged in a war over drug distribution in Brooklyn and Queens for the last six months. It's been nasty, a lot of tic-for-tat killings and it looks like the violence has spilled over into Manhattan as well. Esposito picked him up and Peterman is in the interview room now. It's shaping up to be gang-related violence."

Beckett nods as she studies the file to familiarize herself with the details. She wants to have everything lined up before she goes in to question their suspect. Career criminals like Peterman weren't easy to crack and she needs to know all her facts if she was going to get anything from him.

The detective walks into the interrogation room as if she owned it. She cocks one hip against the table and leans her weight on it as she silently studies the man sitting handcuffed to the seat. He's slouched back in the chair, meeting her eyes straight on as if he were sizing her up for a fight.

"This is Detective Beckett conducting an interview with Justin Peterman." She recites the details for the official recording and then reads him his Miranda rights again. "Do you understand your rights Mr. Peterman?"

He answers her question with a smirk and keeps quiet.

"I'll take that as a yes then," the detective moves around to the other side of the table and takes a seat. Although she'd left the file open in front of her, Beckett didn't need to consult it as she began the interrogation.

"Sean Pritchard, you know him," she says it more as a statement of fact rather than a question. "Do you want to tell me why you met him last night at the Left Field sports bar?"

"I ain't gotta tell you nothing bitch."

"Let's see if we can't make you a bit more co-operative?" Beckett gives him a fake smile, the cards are all in her favor and she knows it. She's got him on motive and opportunity, all she has to do is figure out the means and it's a slam-dunk. "The barman positively identified you as the man who meet with Pritchard at approximately eight o'clock. You spent fifteen minutes talking to him and then you both left the building together. That's odd don't you think? Members of rival gangs meeting for a friendly drink?"

"Just call me the fricking United Nations. I'm doing my part for world peace."

"Oh really?" the cop raises an eyebrow. "And did your peace keeping efforts also include putting a 9 mm bullet into his head?"

"What?" Peterman jerks in surprise at the accusation, his Brooklyn accent suddenly gone. "Pritchard's dead?"

"Yes, he was found in the alleyway next to the bar at ten o'clock. You were with him when he was last seen alive. Make it easy on yourself and tell me what happened."

"Fuck! They must have made me," Peterman is talking to himself rather than directing his comments to the cop. "How the hell did they figure it out? A year of work has gone down the toilet."

"You're not making any sense here Peterman. If you want me to put in a good word with the DA for you then you need to start explaining."

"Justin Peterman is not my real name, it's Paul Dyson - Special Agent Dyson with the FBI. If you put a call into the New York field office and talk to Special Agent-in-Charge Morrison he'll confirm my identity."

Beckett turns and nods at the two-way mirror behind her. She knew that Esposito would be standing on the other side, listening in on the interview. It would only take him a few minutes to verify Paul Dyson's story.

"So what was a bikie gang member doing meeting up with an FBI agent then?" Beckett turns back to face the man in handcuffs.

"I've been undercover working to discover the source of the cocaine that's flooded the New York market in the last eighteen months. Pritchard was my confidential informant. He was only mid-level in the Barracuda's hierarchy but he was the bagman, transporting the money to pay their supplier. He said that a big shipment was due in two weeks."

"Do you have any idea of who might have killed him then?"

A knock on the door interrupts them and Esposito walks into the room.

"His story checks out," the detective frees the FBI agent from the handcuffs.

Dyson rubs the chafed skin around his wrists ruefully. "If they knew that Pritchard was supplying information to the feds then the list of potential killers is a mile long. The gangs aren't very lenient when it comes to members who narc on them. But if I had to guess then I'd say Al Taylor would my top suspect."

"Who's Al Taylor?" Beckett makes a note in her file.

"He's a mercenary, ex-special forces. Currently he's working as Fred Curran's bodyguard," Dyson explains.

"Curran, the guy who makes those reality television shows? What's he got to do with this?" Esposito asks.

"We think that Curran has been working with a cartel from Colombia to move drugs into the states along the eastern seaboard. He's using his television production company as a front to smuggle the drugs in."

"Ok let's bring in Taylor for questioning then," Beckett says to Esposito.

"No! You can't do that," Dyson protests.

"What do you mean _no_?" Beckett didn't want to get into a pissing contest with the feds about jurisdiction but this was her case and she wasn't about to hand it over easily.

"Taylor is only the muscle; if you question him then the whole operation could be compromised. We've been working with both the DEA and the Colombian authorities in a combined effort for the last year to get to the guys at the top. I'm sorry but I can't let you jeopardize all that work for the sake of collaring one guy, you need to look at the bigger picture." Dyson is adamant.

Beckett snorts; she knew how the game was played. Sometimes the _bigger picture_ meant letting guys like Taylor walk free and she wasn't about to let that happen. Pritchard may have been scum but he still deserved justice for his callous murder, she was going to get it for him.

"If you want our co-operation then I want something in return," she bargains with the agent. "We'll hold off on questioning Taylor for now but I want _in_ on your operation. You can call it my insurance policy to make sure that Taylor doesn't walk."

Dyson studies the cop as she meets his gaze without flinching. If it was a game of who would blink first then it wouldn't be the detective.

"I need to clear it with my boss first," the agent hedges his answer, "but there might be something that you could do. My cover has been blown so we need to get someone on the inside. We were trying to track the drugs all the way from Colombia to New York but that's gone now. We might need to target the weakest spot in the supply chain. How do you feel about going undercover Detective Beckett? Do you think that you're up to it?"

"I always did enjoy playing dress up when I was younger," she smiles sarcastically back at him. It was obvious that Dyson was still trying to play hardball with her but it wasn't in her nature to back down from a challenge.

"Curran and Taylor are headed off to Puerto Rico; it's where his latest project is being filmed. It's one of those matchmaking shows, ten women competing for one guy. The final three women get to sail with him on board a luxury yacht from Puerto Rico to Florida. I guess you could call it _The Bachelor _meets _The Love Boat._ Our intel says that the drugs will be on that yacht somewhere. We think that they'll transfer the drugs to a speedboat just before they make it to port."

"And let me guess, you want to me to be one of the contestants on the show?"

"No, those women were selected a few months ago. But we might be able to get you on as a production assistant on the show. There are no guarantees though that you'll make it onto the yacht. They'll only be taking a reduced television crew for that part but this is our best shot for getting someone onboard. Curran likes pretty brunettes, in fact you're just his type. If you could catch his eye then he might assign you to the crew." Dyson cautions her though, "I won't lie and say that this isn't risky. You won't have any backup on the yacht and if you got into trouble then help would be at least a few hours away."

"Is it just Curran and Taylor that I have to be careful of?" she asks.

"We've got wire taps of Curran speaking with the bachelor. They're speaking in code but we think that he might be involved as well."

"And who is this guy?"

"Richard Castle, he's a minor celebrity," Dyson explained. "He writes …"

"…mystery novels." Beckett finishes off the sentence for him. She didn't need the FBI agent to explain who Richard Castle was; after all, he was her favorite author.

**A/N: So I've got eight chapters of this written so far and I'll release one a week. Hopefully that will give me time to finish off this story without a huge delay for readers (yes I know I can be pretty tardy as those of you who have read any of my other stories will know). So enjoy.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Beckett stands in the receiving line holding a placard with 'Richard Castle' across the front as she waits for him to disembark from the plane. It was ninety degrees in the shade and her shirt is clinging to her skin unpleasantly. She plays with the unfamiliar glasses that rest on her face; they hide a miniature recording device. The days of actually having a wire taped to your skin were long gone, recording devices could be hidden in just about anything now. Her FBI backup team would be somewhere nearby, recording every detail.

Her patience was crumbling as time wore on and sweat trickles down her back, settling in uncomfortable places. The flight had landed forty minutes earlier and most of the other passengers had already left the airport but there was still no sign of the writer. As a first class passenger he should have been one of the first to get off and she was starting to wonder if she'd got the flight details wrong except she'd checked his itinerary twice that morning.

The automatic doors from the customs and immigration area parts at that moment and she could finally see what the delay was, or more accurately, _who_ the delay was. Rick Castle was flirting with a pretty female flight attendant as they walked down the causeway, his arm slung intimately over her shoulders. His stubble was a few hours past the 5 o'clock stage and his sunglasses covered his eyes as if he were nursing a hangover.

"Here's my number. I'd love to see you when you're back in New York," Castle finishes writing his digits on the coaster and winks as he hands it to the blonde.

_He winked!_

Beckett rolls her eyes; she couldn't believe the shameless audacity of the man. She's been baking in the humid, airless building just so that the bastard could pick up some dizzy blonde. For goodness sake, he was about to have ten women fawning over him for a month, couldn't he just wait another few days?

"Thanks Rick," Janelle giggles as she tucks the piece of paper into her pocket. "I'll catch you later. Bye."

"Bye Janelle." He smiles as he watches her walk off to the taxi racks, her red 4-wheel spinner case lagging behind.

"Bye Janelle," Beckett repeats it under her breath in a mocking tone but she wasn't as quiet as she thought she was because Castle turns his head at the sound.

"Did you say something?" he asks her. He tilts his head and pulls his glasses up so that they rested on his head as he observed her. His first impression was that the woman was stunning. She was tall and slim with masses of golden, brown hair and chocolate eyes with a hint of green. There's a bulky gentleman's watch on her wrist and an irritated expression on her classically beautiful face.

The dowdy glasses that she wore didn't suit her at all but it was the only fault that he could find. The beauty mark on her left cheek was more a pronouncement of individuality rather than a blemish. The heat had made her hair go slightly frizzy and her cheeks were stained pink but instead of making her look wilted it just made him wonder if she would look this good after a bout of hot, sweaty sex.

"I said 'Welcome Mr. Castle,'" Beckett pastes on a fake smile and deliberately lies to him.

For a second Castle contemplates calling her out on the lie, what she'd said before had far fewer syllables than _welcome Mr. Castle._ He decides to let it go though, he likes her sass.

"Thank you Ms …" he deliberately left a pause so that she could fill in her name.

"Beckett."

He raises an eyebrow when she didn't supply any addition name.

"Well it's nice to meet you Beckett. A lot of the greats have gone down the mononymous name path. Plato, Aristotle, Pocahontas and – my all time favorite – Barney. Not very people can manage to totally rock the purple dinosaur look."

She could tell he was laughing at her and her teeth were practically grinding as she says, "It's Karen Beckett. But I'd prefer it if you called me Beckett." They'd decided to make her cover name very similar to her real one, it would be one less detail for her to trip over.

"Ok Beckett. By the way I've got to say that you're far too beautiful to be a limo driver." He looks at the placard that she was still holding.

"I'm not the driver, Manuel's waiting in the _air-conditioned_ limo," Beckett stresses the description as if it were a recrimination, after all it was Castle's fault that she was all hot and bothered and not in a good way. "I'm the production assistant; basically the on-set girl friday."

"And will part of your duties be to look after me? Because if it is then I'm looking forward to it already," he says with a shit-eating grin. "Lucky me."

She has to restrain herself from saying what she really thought about that comment. "If you'd please follow me out to the limo, Manuel is waiting to take us to the hotel." She turns on her heels, the platform soles gave her another five inches in height, and walks off, not waiting to see if he would follow.

He watches her stiff back retreating, in those tight jeans the rear view of Karen Beckett was worth a stare or two. He got the firm impression that she was less than impressed with him. There is something about her that makes him want to tease her. He smiles as he rushes to catch up with her; this trip was already starting off in the best possible way.

Beckett had already reached the front passenger-side door by the time he got to the limo.

"Aren't you going to sit in the back with me?" he asks as she opens her door.

The look that she gave him clearly said that she thought he was an idiot. "I'm sure that you can manage to put the seat belt on by yourself."

"But what if I get lonely?" he couldn't help winding her up.

She didn't bother to reply to him before she got into the limo. Castle grins at the driver who stood patiently holding the door for him.

"Manuel, would you mind leaving the glass divider down please?"

"Certainly Mr. Castle."

"Thank you." Rick slips him a tip and then gets into the vehicle. The writer took his place in one of the rear facing seats directly behind Beckett. "Isn't this comfy?"

The detective whips her head around at the sound of his voice which was far closer than she expected. "What are you doing sitting there?" she asks him.

"Well I got lonely sitting in the back by myself and it's much easier for us to have a conversation if I'm sitting closer." He smiles as he watches her bite her tongue, no doubt there was some stinging remark that she'd restrained herself from making.

It was fascinating to observe her, in their short acquaintance she'd already piqued his interest. Beckett wasn't the type of woman that he'd expect to find in this job. Production assistants were usually young interns, working their way through the ranks and dreaming of becoming screenwriters or directors. They were almost all uniformly eager to please; they didn't typically want to bite your head off.

"So where are we headed to Beckett?" he asks her as he swung his legs up on the seat so that he was sitting sideways, it made it much easier for him to look at her this way.

It made her neck prickle knowing how close he sat but she refuses to let the writer know that he was affecting her. "You're booked into a suite at the Paradiso Hotel so we're going there to drop your luggage off. It's a luxury boutique hotel that's been completely booked out for the duration of the location shoot. The female contestants will be joining you there in a few of days. You don't have anything else scheduled until eight o'clock tonight when Mr. Curran is meeting you for dinner at his private club."

"Are you staying there as well?"

Beckett snorts, the producers weren't going to pay five hundred dollars-a-night for a hotel room for a lowly production assistant. She was sharing a room with one of the makeup artists at a budget chain motel. The room was tiny with barely any space between the single beds and a rattling air-conditioner that made more noise than an aircraft taking off.

"No, the crew is at a motel, it's half an hour away."

"Oh no, that's too far away, we'll get you moved into my hotel," He pulls his phone out and dials a number.

"Mr. Castle, that really isn't necessary. I'm perfectly happy at the motel." It was a lie but the motel was still a better option than moving into the hotel with Castle.

"There's no need to be so formal Beckett, you can call me Rick." He held the phone up by his ear as he waited for the other person to pick up. "And I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing it for me. I might get …"

Beckett held up her hand to stop him. "Let me guess …lonely?" she says.

"It's like you can read my mind," he grins. "Hey Frankie this is Rick Castle. Yeah I just got in."

Beckett could only hear one side of the phone conversation but she already knew that she wouldn't like it.

"If it's no trouble, could you please get another room at the hotel for Beckett, the production assistant? I have a feeling that I'm going to need her help a lot." The writer listens briefly to something that Curran said and then looked up the fuming woman and grins. "Yes, a connecting room next to mine would be perfect. Ok, I'll see you later at dinner." Castle hangs up and slips his phone back into his pocket. "It's all sorted, no need to thank me. Manuel, could you please make a detour to the motel first? Beckett needs to get her things, she's moving."

_Thank him? Thank him! She wanted to hit him._

The driver nods and turns his indicator on to make a left turn. "No problem sir."

"You can't just do that," Beckett hisses at the writer who grins unrepentantly. If he thought that sleeping with him was part of her duties then he was going to be sorely disappointed. "I'm a _production _assistant; I'm not your _personal _assistant.

"No need to be so effusive in your thanks, you're making me blush Beckett," he mocks her. It was so cute the way her brow furrows when she gets frustrated. "Don't look so suspicious, I just thought that you might enjoy the upgrade. I'm not expecting anything more than a verbal thank you."

Rick tries to look as innocent as possible as she stares at him with narrowed eyes. She was trying to figure out if he was being sincere or if this was all part of his play.

"Thank you," Beckett says it stiffly as if the words were unfamiliar. "That was actually kind of … sweet." _Maybe he wasn't a complete jerk after all_.

"Damn that was far too easy," his face cracks into a cocky grin at how quickly she relented, he couldn't maintain the innocent look any long. "I knew I should have held out for at least a kiss on the cheek."

Beckett swings around so that she was facing the front and no longer had to look at his smug, handsome face. _She took it back; he was definitely a complete jerk._

* * *

Beckett remains silent for the rest of the ride, her eyes firmly on the road as she nurses her pique. Castle didn't even seem to notice her temper which only annoys her even further. He kept up a running commentary with Manuel as they make their way through the streets of San Juan.

The limo pulls up to the front of the hotel and the concierge greets them as they got out of the vehicle. The building was a two-storey refurbished Spanish mansion with the typical pastel-colored walls and tiled roof.

"Welcome to the Paradiso Mr. Castle and Ms Beckett. My name is Ernesto and I'm the hotel concierge. If there's anything that we can do to make your stay here more pleasant please don't hesitate to ask. Please follow me." He ushers them over to the spiral staircase that lead off from the impressive entrance as a busboy took care of their luggage. It was wonderfully cool in the hotel after the outside heat.

Beckett fidgets as she mounts the stairs to the first floor. Surrounded by the marble and polished wood setting the detective felt under-dressed in her creased capri trousers and blue tank top. She wasn't used to this kind of deference but Castle seems relaxed as he chatters to the concierge. He seems to be able to talk to anyone; Ernesto, Manuel – if the writer had an audience with the Queen he'd probably have her laughing within the first two minutes.

Ernesto uses an electronic swipe card to gain access to the suite. "This is your room Mr. Castle."

It was spectacular; if the stylish décor and expansive dimensions weren't enough then the overhanging balcony that looked out onto the inner courtyard was the icing on the cake. It was certainly a sharp step up from the room that she had last night. Kate was still staring and she barely heard him as Ernesto went on to give them a rundown of the services that the hotel offered.

"Ms Beckett … Ms Beckett?"

The detective looks up as she realizes that her name was being called. "I'm sorry, I was admiring the view. Could you please repeat that?"

"I was just saying that your room is through there," Ernesto points to the inter-connecting door that lead off from the living area. "The locks on it have been deactivated as per your request."

"We're not _together_," Beckett glares at Castle as she tries to correct the concierge's mistaken impression, there's no way that she wants people to think that she's going to sleep with the jerk.

"She's very protective of my virtue and reputation," Rick quips to the concierge. "She'll only let me hold her hand when no-one is looking. It's all very Victorian."

Poor Ernesto didn't know what to make of the angry brunette and the grinning writer. "Of course Ms. Beckett, I'll leave you to get settled in," he says as he made his getaway.

"Why the hell did you do that?" she fumes as soon as they were alone.

"Do what?" he feigns ignorance.

"You let him think that we were sexually involved."

"Oh come on Beckett," he says when she continues to glare at him. "You need to lighten up a bit, Ernesto knew that I was joking. Besides, what's so terrible about being romantically linked to me? I have been called ruggedly handsome before. I also noted that you didn't ask him to reactivate the locks on that door. Are you planning on a midnight excursion into my bedroom? A rendezvous between the sheets?"

_Only if I get to smother you._

Beckett bites her tongue to stop the automatic retort that came to her. The only reason that she isn't insisting on changing rooms is because it's occurred to her that the current situation would make it easier for her to search his stuff when he was at dinner but she couldn't tell him that. The way he keeps grinning at her made her blood boil.

The detective marches up to him and invades his personal space as she continues to stare. It was a tactic that she'd used successfully to interrogate criminals but he seems to find it more amusing than intimidating.

"You're about to have ten women throwing themselves at you. I'm _not_ going to add myself to that group." Beckett tries to stare him down with her most severe gaze.

"You are so hot right now," he says it half-teasingly, half-truthfully.

"Argh!" The cop shakes her head angrily and stalks out in a huff. She was very tempted to reach out and twist his ear; after all, he was behaving like an overgrown kid. Beckett had to remind herself that she was undercover and her role didn't allow her to physically abuse the star of the show. But when this was over, _oh yes, _when this was over she promised herself that she'd get her revenge. If he didn't turn out to be a drug smuggler could she still arrest him for being a jackass?


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Beckett stretches out her long legs, enjoying the extra length afforded by the oversized bath. She'd raided the mini-bar for a glass of red wine which she sips as she rests her head back against the edge. The combination of a relaxing soak and the alcohol had finally diffused the tension caused by having to deal with the writer.

Castle had been suspicious quiet all afternoon and she hadn't heard anything from him since she stormed out of his hotel room. The detective glances at her watch that rested on the marble counter-top. It was seven-thirty now. She'd wait another forty minutes, to make sure that he'd left for his dinner appointment with Curran, before she sneaks into his room and searches through his luggage.

The shrill noise of the phone ringing interrupts her thoughts and the brunette looks through the open door into the bedroom with annoyance. It was the hotel phone, not her personal cell phone. Who would be calling her on that line? She gets out of the tub reluctantly and grabs the complimentary robe to wrap it about her. The phone continues to ring as she belts the robe and walks over to pick it up.

"Hello? It's Beckett."

"Hey, it's Rick. What are you wearing?"

The brunette glances down at the terry-cloth robe and then around the room. Were there hidden cameras? How the hell did he know that she'd been naked?

"What?!" she squeaks, outraged at his impertinence.

"I asked what you were wearing." Castle repeats his question.

"I'm not about to encourage your puerile, adolescent fantasies by answering that. What I'm wearing is none of your business."

"Oooh! Does that mean you're wearing something risqué?" he sounds both curious and excited. "Let me guess. A leather cat-suit? A satin and lace bustier? A Princess Leia gold metallic bikini? I didn't think that you'd have a cocktail dress packed into that duffel bag of yours but I'm sure that whatever you're wearing is even better?"

"My duffel bag? Cocktail dress? What on earth are you talking about?"

"I wanted to know what you were wearing to dinner. I know that the dress code for men at the club requires a jacket and tie. I notice that you only had that small duffel bag when we checked in, so I was wondering if you had a dress tucked away somewhere else."

"Oh," Beckett says as it finally started to make sense. "I don't have a dress but you don't need to worry about that because I'm not going to dinner with you."

"Why not?" Castle sounds disappointed. "You've got to eat sometime don't you? I hear that they have a scallop and melon salad there that is amazing."

"I'm allergic to shellfish," she lies.

"I'm sure that the other menu options will also be good. Come on Beckett," he wheedles. "Besides don't think of it as going to dinner with me, think of it as an opportunity to socialize with Frank Curran. How often does a production assistant get to talk to the executive producer? This could be your big break."

Beckett bites her bottom lip as she weighs up her options. Castle was right; if she really had been a production assistant then she would have jumped at the chance to have dinner with a well-known producer like Frank Curran. It would be out of character for her to decline the opportunity. She couldn't afford any suspicion to fall on her cover. Besides it would be a good opportunity for her to observe their main suspect.

"I'd love to meet Mr. Curran but I'm afraid I don't have a dress so they probably wouldn't let me in the private club …"

A knock at the door interrupts her explanation and the detective wondered who it could be.

"Hang on Castle, I've got to answer the door." Beckett puts the receiver down and walks over to the door. She put her eye up to the spy hole to check the identity of her visitor before she opens the door.

"Senorita Beckett?" The woman was dressed in a hotel uniform and carrying a large cardboard box and a smaller shoe box.

"Yes, can I help you?" Beckett eyes the boxes curiously.

"This is for you; the courier dropped it off at the reception desk."

"But I'm not expecting anything," Beckett protests even as the maid hands her the parcel.

"Maybe it's a gift from a secret admirer then," the woman smiles before she turns and walks away leaving a very bemused cop in her wake.

Kate closes the door and then places the boxes onto her bed. She lifts the lid off the large one to reveal layers of tissue paper and then, under all that, a beautiful green silk dress. Beckett lifts it out of the box and holds it up to inspect the stunning piece of material. It was sleeveless with a Chinese collar and handcrafted beading running diagonally down from the shoulder to end just above the hem. There was a small card in it that just read _Bippity, bobbity, boo._

"Castle, did you do this?" She picks up the phone again.

"If you mean the dress that should have arrived by now, then yes. I want to say one thing before you start complaining about how it was very high handed of me to pick out a dress for a woman I barely know. There are no strings attached to the gift, you could choose to burn it if you wanted to. But I hope that you'd consider wearing it to dinner with me." Castle holds his breath as he waits to find out her decision.

Beckett stares at the dress; it was far too gorgeous for her to burn. It would serve the arrogant writer right but she'd be punishing herself as well if she did.

"I'm guessing that it will fit me perfectly and the shoes match as well?" she hedges her reply, not wanting to commit to a definite yes.

"The saleswoman at the boutique was very helpful." Rick was careful not to sound too cocky. He could sense her resolve wavering but it could still go either way.

"What if they're the wrong size?"

"Shall we leave the decision up to the universe then? If the dress and shoes fit then you'll meet me at the reception in twenty minutes. If they don't then I'll go to dinner by myself. I hope to see you there."

"The universe huh?" Beckett is rolling her eyes even though he can't see her.

"Yes, it could be sign from the universe. You don't want to disappoint the universe do you?" Castle grins.

"Seriously Castle," Beckett shakes her head, the man is unbelievable. "Goodbye."

* * *

Castle leans against the reception desk and checks his watch again for the fifth time. The town car had just arrived and there was still no sign of Beckett. Behind the counter Ernest hid a smile as the writer taps his fingers nervously against the counter top.

"I guess she's not coming," Castle sighs, he'd known that it had been a long shot but he'd been looking forward to seeing if Beckett would look as spectacular as he'd imagined when he'd purchased the dress.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that Mr. Castle." Ernesto was staring up the marble stairs and Castle turns to see what he was looking at.

Beckett is standing on the landing and the sight of her was enough to take his breath away. She looks even better in the dress than he'd imagined, if that was possible. The dress fits her perfectly, hugging her curves and the heels make her legs look like they went on forever. The only thing that he'd change would be her glasses, they hid far too much of her face.

He meets her at the bottom of the stairs and offers her his arm which she hesitantly takes.

"You look amazing Beckett," he compliments her.

Kate tucks a curl behind her ear as she looks away from his admiring gaze. "You don't look too bad yourself Castle."

It was true; he looked far too tempting in his midnight blue jacket and pale purple shirt. She had to keep reminding herself that he was a possible drug smuggler; it would be far too easy for her to be charmed by his relentless pursuit. He was a suspect and that was a fact that she need to keep front and center.

* * *

"We're here for dinner; there should be a booking under Curran."

Beckett was staring out over the restaurant as Castle dealt with the _maître d'_. The room was full of wealthy looking men and their bejeweled partners. There was probably enough diamonds on display to rival the show room at De Beers.

"Yes of course Mr. Castle. Your table is ready for you now but Mr. Curran has sent his apologies. He's been detained by business and won't be joining you for dinner, although he is hoping to make it for coffee and dessert. Could you please follow me?" The _maître d'_ ushers them to an intimate table in the corner, away from the busier section of the room.

"Did you know that Mr. Curran wasn't going to make it?" Beckett interrogates him as soon as they were alone, if he planned this then she'd get up and walk out now.

"No, I swear that I had no idea," Castle protests his innocence.

She was skeptical but there was no way of proving that he'd lied.

"Why are you doing this Castle?"

"What do you mean?"

"The hotel room, the dress, this dinner?" The brunette raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Maybe I just wanted to have dinner with a beautiful woman. Despite your prickly demeanor I like you Beckett." He shrugs. Honestly he wasn't sure why he was trying so hard to impress her; it was clear that Beckett wasn't interested.

"Do you have some pathological condition that requires you to charm every woman that you meet?" she asks him.

"Only the beautiful ones."

She didn't look impressed by the compliment. "What if I already have a boyfriend?"

He regards her for a second before he shakes his head. "No you don't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"You would have used this imaginary boyfriend as an excuse to decline before now." Castle was confident in his analysis of her. "Let's look it from a different angle. Why are you so set against me? From the moment that we met you've acted like a cat that's been rubbed the wrong way."

"You're arrogant and intrusive. Plus, you've flirted with both that flight attendant and me when you're just about to star in a reality match-making show. Do I really need to explain it any more clearly than that?"

"No, I get it. You're jealous," the writer smirks.

Beckett rolls her eyes. She's just told him that she found him to be a jerk and all he heard was that she was jealous, the man was delusional.

"It's going to be a very long shoot if this continues. How about we declare a truce? I'll be more civil if you keep it purely professional. Have we got a deal?" Beckett offers what she hopes is a reasonable solution.

"Ok if that's what you want. It's too bad though; it would have been great."

The detective drops her gaze and pretends to be interested in the menu. _You have no idea._

He'd stuck to his part of the deal and the dinner went surprisingly well after that. Castle could be very funny when he wasn't deliberately trying to goad her. His observations of their fellow diners had her laughing out loud as he spun imaginary scenarios. Her favorite one was the one about the trio to their left.

The two men were business partners in a vibrator manufacturing company. The prim-looking woman was their main investor but she was morally conservative so they'd lied and told her that the dildos were actually vibrating back massagers. She'd given one to her eighty-year old mother who'd been having a lot of back problems lately.

"Grandma loves her new massager but she couldn't figure out why it also glowed in the dark." He waggles his eyebrows and Beckett couldn't help the snort of laughter that escapes her. Castle grins, he could tell that she was warming to him and it pleased him.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" Beckett says once her laughter had petered out.

"Sure."

"What's a guy like you doing on this show?"

"What do you mean? This is like every straight guy's fantasy, ten beautiful women who are lining up to date me all at the same time. If I did that in real life it would earn me a slap in the face but on television it earns you an all-expenses paid vacation to Puerto Rico." He gives her his practiced public smile and the answer that he thought she expected.

"No, I don't believe it," the cop shakes her head. "You're not exactly hard up for a date. The gossip pages love you. Rick Castle, playboy writer, seen at all the trendiest spots with a different woman on his arm every week."

"Gosh, I'm touched that you care Beckett. I didn't realize that you were such a fan," he tries to steer the conversation away from her probing questions.

"Right," she says it sarcastically. "The only reason that I know that is because I had to do the research for your publicity bio. The network will be doing some advertising for the show and you're the star of it so of course I'm going to know a few things about you. But let's get back to the subject, why are you doing this?"

He shrugs, uncertain how to explain the ennui of his existence. Other people observing his life would think that he'd be happy. He had money, fame, charm and women chasing after him. The reality though was that he was bored. Life had become too predictable, too easy; there were no more surprises. This staleness had started to permeate into his writing as well, the joy that he used to get from filling a blank page with the world of his creation was missing. When his agent, Paula, had suggested he do this show for the publicity he'd gone along with it because it would help relieve the tedium.

"I don't know. When your life gets splashed all over page six on a regular basis you eventually learn not to fight it, maybe it's easier to give the public the Rick Castle that they expect to see …or maybe I really am that shallow, and I couldn't turn down the opportunity to date ten women at the same time. I'm bound to get lucky with at least one of them."

Beckett was disappointed, for a second there she'd thought he sounded different, that he'd give her a glimpse of the real Rick Castle or at least the one she'd conjured in her head from his books. It was funny how she thought that she knew the man just because she'd read all of his stories. His writing had helped her through some of the hardest times in her life. How disappointing to realize that the man that she'd imagined him to be didn't exist, there was only the privileged jackass.

"Good evening, I 'm sorry to interrupt your dinner but I just wanted to come over and introduce myself. My name is Jennie Stemper; I'm joining you on the show." A woman in a siren red dress steps up to their table and introduces herself, breaking the moment. She completely ignores Beckett and reaches across her to offer Castle her hand.

The writer stands and shakes her hand, his public persona slipping back into place as if it had never slipped. "Well it's lovely to meet you Jennie."

"I know that this is very naughty of me, we're not meant to have any contact with you prior to the first day of shooting but I couldn't resist the opportunity. I was just having dinner with a friend and I noticed you sitting in the corner." Jennie holds her hand up to her mouth like some mischievous child.

"Well your secret is safe with me," Castle looks flattered by the woman's attention. "I'm _so_ looking forward to our official meeting then."

"Do you think that Mr. Curran is coming soon?" Beckett deliberately stuck an obstacle in the love-fest that was happening around her.

"Frank Curran is coming here?" Jennie looks worried. "I should get going then. See you later …Rick." Jennie's breathy voice was so fake and the way she made a verbal caress of Castle's name made Beckett want to vomit.

Castle sits down again, a huge grin on his face.

"Stop smirking," Beckett chastises him. "That woman would have flirted with you even if you'd looked like Homer Simpson and had the personality of Genghis Khan. She's only interested in you for your fame and money; she doesn't know what an immature jerk you can be."

Castle raises an eyebrow at her peeved tone; he was amused by her observations rather than insulted. Maybe it was his imagination but he thought that he detected some jealousy in there. "Whereas you're only interested in me for my body?"

Beckett could feel her ears going red as a flush sweeps over her face, it was purely anger she tells herself, refusing to admit that it could have been anything else.

"Don't worry Beckett," the writer laughs, "I won't tell anyone that you're hot for me, it'll be our little secret."

"Wow, that was a short truce," she snorts.

"Hey, you're the one that broke it first," he points it out. "Calling me an immature jerk wasn't exactly civil."

The cop hated to admit it but he was right. "I'm sorry," she apologizes although it grates her to do it. Beckett reminds herself that she was a homicide detective; she normally had a lot more control than this. She could do this, she wouldn't let Castle keep getting under her skin. This assignment was turning out to be a lot harder than she'd anticipated.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"I want to make the opening credits a homage to your _Derek Storm_ novels, a mixture of super-spy, action and romance." Jeremy Neilson, the British director, was explaining his vision to Castle as they sit in the hotel courtyard. "We'll film you zipping across the harbor at the wheel of a jet boat and then cut to a scene of you in a tux doing the tango with a masked woman. We need to hook the female audience in; when they see it we want them to imagine themselves as that woman in your arms."

The writer nods as he sips his coffee. "That sounds good Jeremy but there is one small problem. I can't tango."

"Don't worry, we don't need you to be a pro, it'll only be a ten second clip of that. We've hired some a pair of professional dancers to teach you." Neilson waves off the objection. "Make a note that Rick will need a session to fit a tux. Can you please organize it with one of the boutiques?" the director asks Beckett and she jots it down on her clipboard. "Just check with Ernesto, he'll be able to steer you towards the appropriate shops."

"Ricky!" a booming voice interrupts their conversation as a hand slaps the writer's back.

Castle turns to look up at the bald man who had joined them. "Frank, it's good to see you." He offers his hand and they shake before Curran takes a seat on the left of Castle and opposite Beckett. Curran didn't bother to introduce the man who waited by the French doors for him but the detective immediately recognizes Al Taylor from his mugshots. She'd love to get him into an interrogation room to see what she could get out of him.

"Sorry I missed dinner last night but I had to deal with some of the local officials. Trying to get permission to close off part of Ocean Park beach for filming was worse than pulling teeth," Curran explains. "I hope you had a nice evening anyway."

"I certainly did," Castle smiles easily. "I managed to convince Beckett to join me for dinner. It was hard work but she eventually succumbed to my charms."

"It was more like his whining that I couldn't stand, I had to agree just to get him to stop," Beckett retorts.

Curran looks across the table curiously at the detective and extends his hand. He couldn't remember what her role was but he was sure that he'd never met her before; he would never forget a face like that. "Frank Curran." He introduces himself. "It's nice to meet you Beckett."

"Karen Beckett, I'm a production assistant." She offers her fake name and shakes his hand even as she sizes him up. He had a commanding air that made him seem larger than his five foot ten. Curran looks charming but there was an underlying current of ruthlessness. Beckett had no problems seeing him as the man who'd ordered Sean Pritchard's death. She smiles politely at him, her face giving no indications of her thoughts.

"So, are you enjoying work on the set?" the producer asks her.

"It's been great Mr. Curran," she gushes. If she really had been a production assistant then meeting Curran would have been a big deal for her. "It's been a bit chaotic working with Castle but I'm getting there." She makes a sly dig at the writer who just smiles innocently as if he'd never been at fault.

"Please call me Frank," he tells her. "So Ricky is being a handful is he?"

"What can I say? I like bossy women." Castle grins like a little boy. "Having Beckett around keeps me in line."

Curran laughs. "Keep up that bad-boy charm Ricky; we'll get millions tuning in to see it. Maybe I should make Beckett your personal assistant instead, the two of you have obviously clicked and I'm sure that there is at least another production assistant floating around here anyway. You can spare her for at least part of the time, can't you Jeremy?"

"Sure thing Frank," the Brit agrees easily.

"Ok, it's a done deal then." Curran nods and stands before Beckett could even protest. "I've got a business call to make now but I'll catch up with you later."

The remaining trio nod or wave their goodbyes as Curran walks away to join Taylor.

"A promotion from production assistant to personal assistant, congratulations Beckett." Castle says it innocently enough but she can tell that he was laughing at her; he knew how much she'd hate having to work more closely with him.

She grits her teeth and manages a false smile. "Yeah, lucky me."

* * *

Beckett sits in the comfortable L-shaped chaise longue as the salesperson finishes up measuring the writer in the private dressing room. She'd offered to leave when he'd had to strip down to his undershirt and boxers but he'd declined.

"I don't mind if you stay, it won't embarrass me at all. Unless of course, the sight of me in my tightie-whities is too much of a temptation for you? If you're afraid that you won't be able to keep your hands to yourself then, by all means, leave." The smile on his face had taunted her and she'd replied by merely raising an eyebrow and planting herself firmly in the armchair which gave her a front and center view of him. The only way that she'd be putting her hands on him would be if she could slap that smug smile off his face.

Fortunately he'd been joking about his choice of underwear and the boxers he had on were no more revealing than what you'd see on a lot of guys at the beach. But she'd had a few stuttering heart beats when his hands had paused at the waistband of his trousers before he'd looked directly at her and pushed them down off his hips. There was something horribly intimate about the way he was stripping, as if it was solely for her.

Castle might be insufferable but there was nothing wrong with his body. She tries to keep her eyes firmly above his waist despite the temptation to peek.

"You can put your arms down now Mr. Castle," Riaz, the salesman, makes a note of the measurements. "Take a seat and I'll be back with a selection of shirts and tuxedos for you to try on."

Castle grins at Beckett as he stands there, completely unabashed at the difference in their state of undress. "So did you enjoy the show?"

The detective decides that she'd show him. If Castle thought that he could embarrass her then he was in for a shock. She worked with cops and dealt with criminals every day, a little bit of flesh wasn't going to make her blush. She shrugs nonchalantly as if she hadn't been impressed by the body hidden under his clothes. "I'm sure that there are women out there who like that kind of thing but you're a bit too skinny for my tastes."

"Too skinny?" he sounds miffed and Beckett has to hide a smile.

To be honest, she had secretly admired his physique. He was built like a swimmer, wide shoulders and a trim waist. His long sleek lines looked as if he'd slice through the water like a shark. But there was no need to add to his already inflated ego by admitting it.

"It's nothing personal, you're just not my type." Kate wrinkles her nose as if there was a bad smell in the air, "I like guys with some muscle on them."

Castle never got the chance to defend himself because Riaz comes back in with some clothes for him to put on. The salesman holds out a selection of shirts, they were all white but came in varying styles.

"The shirt options are pleated or non-pleated and the collars come in wing, lay-down and mandarin styles. Would you like to try a few on or do you know which style you would prefer?"

The writer looks over at Beckett as if seeking advice and she offers her opinion.

"Go for the pleated wing-collar one, it's a classic."

Castle turns back to Riaz. "What she said," he nods to his assistant.

"Very good sir." Riaz selects the appropriate hanger and hands the shirt off to the writer.

Castle pulls the shirt on and does up the buttons. He shrugs a few times to test the width and make sure that it sat comfortably around the neck. It didn't choke him and wasn't too restrictive so that was good enough for him.

"This is a midnight blue, single-breasted tux, by Christian Dior." Riaz holds up a jacket on a hanger with the matching trousers. "It's meant to worn with either a vest or cummerbund underneath."

Rick tries it on but he keeps fidgeting with the cummerbund. "This reminds me of my high school prom. What do you think Beckett?"

She tilts her head from one side to the other. "It looks nice." Nice but not spectacular.

Castle shakes his head and starts to take it off. "What's next?" he asks.

"How about this one?" Riaz shows him a black tux. "It's double breasted so you can wear just a shirt under the jacket and it's by Alexander McQueen."

As soon as he put it on Beckett knew that this had to be the one. Even an average looking guy in the right tux would look good and Castle was far from average. He looked like he could out-Bond even 007 in that tux. He looked like a _really good_ _time, _the kind that any sensible woman should avoid.

"Do you like this one?" Rick turns slightly to give her the side view as he pulls the jacket sleeves down to cover the cuffs of his shirt and looks at his reflection in the full-length mirror.

Her mouth was suddenly horribly dry and she had to cough before she could form any words. He'd joked about her being unable to keep hands off him but she had a feeling he might have been right. If she'd been the kind of woman who was ruled by her hormones then she'd be all over him by now.

"Beckett?" he glances over his shoulder at her when she didn't reply.

"It'll do," she says gruffly as she tries to hide her reaction. Castle looks good in that dinner suit, he looks damned good. She was half tempted to take a bite just to see if he would taste as good as he promised.

"Would you like to try on a tie as well?" the helpful salesman was no doubt mentally rubbing his hands in glee at his commission. "We've got the traditional black but there's also a range of other colors as well."

"Yes I'd like to try one on, but just the black will do thanks." Castle plays with the strip of material as he tries to tie it but it was a hopeless mess. "Do you have one of those clip-on bow ties?"

Riaz looks horrified by the question. "Umm …sir?" He sounded like Castle had just shouted a profanity in the middle of St Peter's Basilica.

"I need one of those bow ties that come already done up, I never learned how to tie one properly," Castle keeps trying but he was making the knots even worse.

"Stop playing with it," Beckett's hand knocks Castle's digits away from the knotted mess as she stands up next to him and grabs both ends of the material. Her fingers were swift and efficient as she effortlessly makes the bow and adjusts it so that it sat perfectly against the white of his collar. She concentrates on her task and deliberately ignores how close their bodies were. "There," she says once she was happy with the final result.

"Wow, you're really good at that." His voice pulls her eyes up to his face and reminds her of exactly how close he stood. She froze for a second, paralyzed by the searing blue of his eyes.

"My mom taught me how to do it when I was eight. I used to do jazz and tap dancing and in a few of the productions I had to wear a bow tie. It was easier for me to learn how to do it myself rather than have her tie it each time." Beckett snatches her hands back as she takes a step away from him.

"Karen Beckett was a dancer, I would never have guessed. Do you still dance now?"

She shakes her head, "No, I stopped once I got to high school."

"Why?"

Beckett just shrugs; she didn't want to volunteer any more personal information. The reality was that she discovered boys, motorbikes and a thousand other ways to drive her parents crazy. Castle didn't need to know about her wild child days.

"So many layers to the Beckett onion. It makes me wonder what other things you're hiding."

"Nothing. I'm not hiding anything." Beckett waves away his question as she changes the topic. "If you're happy with that tux then we're finished here."

He pauses to take another look in the mirror, still uncertain about his choice. He likes it better than the first tux he tried on but Beckett didn't sound particularly enthused. Maybe he should try another one as well. "What do you think Riaz?" Castle asks the salesman.

"Very handsome sir, it shows off your physique nicely. I think that the women will be suitably impressed."

Beckett keeps her head turned, pretending that she's typing something into her phone and ignoring the conversation between the men. She knows that Riaz is right, the cut of the suit shows off his assets nicely and yes women will be impressed because this one woman certainly is. That last thought irritates her but she's not sure if she's more annoyed by her own reaction or the thought of how all those other women are going to react.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It's like watching a courtship set to music. The man positions himself to catch the woman's eye from across the room. A smile and the return tilt of the head is all it takes to establish the connection. He walks across the length of the floor and holds out his arm with a graceful bow. His female partner allows herself to be swept into the crook of his arm and then the music begins.

The violins and piano carry the melody while the notes of the Spanish guitar play the counter-tune. It is music that breathes the passion of its Latin American origin.

The couple circles around the room, he leads and she follows with the ease of long familiarity but it wasn't jaded or old. The sparks still flash as the dancers hold each other's gaze, as if they were oblivious to the rapt attention of their audience. The woman's head is held high and slightly tilted back, a challenge or an invitation? The man takes it as a tease, his hand warm and firm against her lower back as he leads her through the intricate steps. There is barely any space between them as their feet glide over the wooden floor; the slightest misstep would have set them both tumbling.

Confidence carries them from the first spinning turn through the dramatic lifts and the tricky little flicks and kicks to the last dramatic dip, the woman arches backwards, her weight fully supported by the man's strong arm. They keep that pose for a frozen second as the tango ends.

"Wow." Castle looks suitably impressed and a little bit stunned as well. There was no way that he'd be able to achieve half the ability of the dancers that he'd just watched.

Spontaneous applause breaks out from the small group of watchers and the dancers take a brief bow to acknowledge the praise before they come over to join them.

"Rick, this is Julio and Maria Fluentes. They're going to be your tango instructors," Jeremy Nielsen, the director, makes the introductions.

"That was totally awesome." Castle shakes hands with the couple, bouncing on his toes like some over-eager kid. "Do you really think that you can teach me to do that?"

Julio laughs politely. "No, I'm sorry my friend. We only have three days and tango takes years to master. But we can teach you enough for a short segment that they will use for the opening credits of the program. I'll demonstrate the steps first and then you can partner with Maria and walk through it slowly."

"Ok Rick, I've got to go but it sounds like you'll be in good hands," Jeremy excuses himself, leaving the Castle with the dancers and Beckett watching from the sidelines.

Julio and Maria make it look so simple as they take it slowly through the basic steps of the tango.

"Step back with your right foot, then slide out to the side with your left. Bring your right foot into your left then step forward right, left and then feet together. Step out to right, feet together again and that takes us back to the start." Julio calls out the individual steps as he demonstrates it. "Tango is all about male aggression so it's very important that you learn this part Rick. As the man, you lead in this dance; your partner will merely follow. It's very important though that she has confidence in your ability to lead or else it will never work."

Castle steps up and tries to mimic Julio's more confident motions but with the first few repetitions his feet keep crossing at the wrong time and it looks very awkward. Beckett has to use her clipboard to hide her smile at his clumsiness. It didn't take him long though to get the hang of it, she has to admit that the man has some natural rhythm.

"Very good Rick," Maria praises him. "I think that you're ready for a partner now. Hold up your left hand."

Castle did as he was told and Maria steps forward, placing her right hand in his.

"Now put your right hand on my back."

The writer places his hand high up on her back and she has to readjust it so that it was lower, just above her hip.

"Now we dance. One…two… three…" Maria calls out the numbers as they walk through the steps.

"Keep your head up Rick, don't look down at your feet," Julio calls out. "Chest out and tummy in. Good, good. Now a little bit faster."

Castle has been managing to keep it going at the half-speed but as soon as it got faster he loses it completely. He steps forward when he should be stepping back and the consequences are all too predictable. Maria is the person who ends up paying for it as their feet tangle and they go tumbling.

Beckett comes running over to help as soon as the couple hit the ground with a thump.

"I'm so sorry," Castle's landed on his backside with Maria twisted awkwardly next to him. "Are you ok?" he asks her.

From the pained wince on her face it looked like she was far from ok.

"I think I've sprained my ankle."

Julio kneels down solicitously next to his wife and surveys the damage, there's already some swelling around the ankle joint. "Do you think it's broken?"

Maria flexes her ankle tentatively, it is sore but it didn't feel like a fracture. "No, I don't think so. Can you help me up? I want to see if I can put any weight through it."

Julio hooks his arm under her shoulder while Castle does the same thing on the other side; with both of them lifting they are able to get Maria up on her feet. Gingerly she balances on her good foot as she gradually eases some of her body weight onto the other side, it hurts but she manages a few tentative steps that takes her to the nearest seat. It didn't look like she'd be able to tango again any time soon.

"I'm sorry, I'm such a klutz." Rick looks truly remorseful.

"It's ok, in a couple of days I'll be fine. I just need to ice and rest it now. I'm more worried about the fact that we need to find you a new partner to practice with." Maria pats him on the forearm. "We don't really have the luxury of waiting until I'm fit again."

"Beckett could do it," Castle volunteers her without a second thought.

"What?! No way," the brunette shakes her head. "There's no way that I'm dancing with you."

"Why not? You said that you used to do dance when you were younger."

"I said I did _jazz_ and _tap_ dancing. I've never tangoed before, the styles are completely different," Beckett protests, the man is mad if he thinks that she'd be his dance partner. She looks at the Fluentes to back her up but they just shrug.

"If you've done dance before then that means that you've got co-ordination and rhythm. Look at it this way Beckett, you can't be any worse than me. I just need partner to practice with until Maria is better, you won't have to do it on the day of filming. Come on."

He stands in the starting position with his left hand held up; with three pairs of eyes looking at her in expectation and against her better judgment Beckett takes a step forward and puts her hand in his.

"If you step on my toes even once then this is over," she warns him.

"I won't," he promises as he slides his other hand into the small of her back, not low enough to be harassment but certainly too low for comfort.

"Ahem!" The brunette pulls his hand higher so that it wasn't resting just above her butt.

"Sorry," he says but his eyes are anything but apologetic.

"Let's start again shall we?" Julio interrupts them.

There were no more accidents for the next hour as they practice and by the end it almost looks half-decent. Julio keeps adding in extra little flourishes when he judges that they'd mastered the previous steps. Maria calls out her suggestions from the sideline where she sits to keep her ankle elevated.

"Speed it up Castle, you're half-a-step too slow," Beckett tells him, she twirls as he flings her out.

"Are you always so bossy or is it just when you're around me?" he teases her as he jerks her back in again, it is only the action of her hand reaching up to push against his chest that stops their bodies from colliding.

"You did that on purpose," she accuses him.

"I did what?" he acts so innocent.

"Just keep your distance Castle. I'm not here so that you can feel me up."

He looks down at her hand that is still resting on his chest. "Ok but at the moment you're the one who's feeling me up. Admit it, you're powerless to resist me."

"In your dreams." Beckett jerks her hand away quickly, a blush staining her cheeks at his knowing laugh as her eyebrows lower in a fierce glare.

"I think that you must secretly like me but you don't want to admit it, that's why you keep frowning so much. It's actually kind of cute." That shit-eating grin of his only gets larger.

"Oh grow up Castle, you're such a little boy." Beckett rolls her eyes to show what she thought of his deduction.

Her grouchy tone just makes the writer grin even wider. "I'm definitely not a _little boy_ and if you ever want a demonstration then let me know."

"What do you think?" Julio asks his wife as they watch the other couple dance and it looks like they're squabbling at the same time. There was a lot of scowling on Beckett's part and Rick was grinning but they weren't close enough to hear the words over the music.

Maria shakes her head. "They can both dance, the rhythm is there but the problem is that they can't dance together. The steps are right but the emotion is all wrong. Rick is too tentative and Beckett doesn't trust him, she keeps trying to lead."

Julio nods his agreement, he'd noted the same problems as well. "That's our session for today," he calls out to the other pair as he turns the music off. "It was pretty good for your first time."

Beckett immediately drops the writer's hand and takes a step back to put some distance between them. They both walk over to join the married couple.

"If you get a chance to practice later on tonight then please do. We only have a short time so the more practice that you get the better it will look," Julio encourages them. "I do have a few suggestions though. Rick, you need to be more forceful. You need to show that you are the man and not a boy. Like so," Julio takes Beckett's hand and leads her through the first few steps, she follows his lead unlike her partnership with the writer. "It's the attitude and emotion that is as important as the technical steps."

Beckett smirks at Castle. '_See, I'm not the only one who thinks that you're a boy' _her smile seems to taunt him.

"And Beckett," Julio turns his attention to the cop. "Only one person can wear the pants in the tango. I know that you're just filling in at the moment for Maria but you need to let him lead, at the moment it's like you're rushing the dance, you're always a fraction too far in front."

It was Castle's turn to smirk now and he raises an amused eyebrow as she glares back.

"We've only got two more days before filming so our next session will be tomorrow afternoon, we'll see you both then. Hopefully by the end we'll have you two dancing as if you were meant to be in each other's arms … or at least as if you weren't conducting a choreographed fight to music." Julio assists his wife to her feet and helps support her out the door.

"I like them," Castle says as he watches their retreating backs. "They're both nice people and good dance instructors."

"Yeah, they are nice but Julio is a bit delusional if he thinks that we could fool anyone into thinking that we some kind of star-crossed lovers on the tango dance floor."

"Why do you say that, Beckett?"

She just raises an eyebrow at that stupid question.

"Ok, so we're not Romeo and Juliet," he concedes. "Maybe we're more like Benedick and Beatrice. You have to admit we've got the whole witty banter thing going on."

Beckett is unwilling to admit to anything. So ok, maybe she did find herself mentally laughing at some of his jokes, _occasionally_. And when he wasn't acting like a jackass there were times when he _almost_ seemed kind of sweet, he'd brought her coffee a few times when he'd gone to get himself some. He'd even remembered how she liked it – tall, skinny latte, two pumps sugar-free vanilla – she'd only ordered it once when he'd been nearby and yet he'd remembered that small detail. But that didn't cancel out all the times that she found him to be childish and annoying, plus there was that one _small_ factor of him being a potential drug smuggler.

"The only thing that we have going on is a professional relationship Castle, nothing more."

"It's a shame; if you would just let yourself relax then you might find that I'm not such a bad guy. I have been known to grow on people."

"Grow on people? Like a parasitic fungus probably," the cop quips.

He grins at the insult. "See, I was right. We've got witty banter."

Beckett coughs incredulously before she stalks off, the man really is delusional.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"What are you doing?" Castle flops down into the chair next to Beckett.

She pauses in the middle of writing something to look up at the writer. "I'm _working_, Castle." It's pretty evident from the piles of paperwork that surrounds her but he's only asking in order to get her attention.

"I'm bored," he says with a forlorn sigh.

"Castle, we're on a tropical island, there's lots of things to do. You could go to the beach, take a tour around old San Juan or go snorkelling."

"I've already been for a swim today and all those things aren't as much fun on your own."

"Well I'm sorry that you're bored," Beckett says it sarcastically, "but some of us have to work for a living."

"Work, work, work. Don't you ever want to have fun? I bet you were always the teacher's pet and never played hooky from school."

Kate doesn't answer but she allows herself a small smile as she goes back to her work. She couldn't be described as a teenage delinquent but she hadn't exactly been a model student either – a rebellious, young Beckett had given her parents a few scares along the way.

He, of course, notices the smile and leaps to a conclusion. "Huh, maybe you're not as strait-laced as you pretend to be. Would badass Beckett care to come out and play?"

She shuts down the smile quickly, it was a mistake to give him even that small bit of encouragement, now he'll be even more impossible. "No, and if you have to sit there then you could at least be quiet. This is a strictly no-talking work space."

That briefly buys her some silence as he mimes zipping his lips shut. Beckett eyes him suspiciously but his face is all innocence and so she goes back to work or, at least, she attempts to work. Knowing that someone is watching you can be very off-putting.

"Castle, you're watching me do paperwork! It's creepy. Don't you have somewhere else to be?"

"I thought you said there was to be no talking, breaking your own rules so quickly Beckett? Besides, I like it here."

"Argh!"

He sits still for a few more minutes but eventually his naturally inquisitive nature kicks in. Castle idly sifts through a pile of catering orders before she slaps his hand away, earning himself the patented Beckett glare.

"But I didn't say a word," he protests.

"Don't mess up my files," she warns him.

That discourages him for all of ten seconds before he filches the box of paper clips off the desk, retreating quickly with his ill-gotten gains before she gets a chance to slap his hands again. Another glare from Beckett and another grin from him. Technically she'd warned him off the files but she hasn't said anything about the stationary.

"Everything on this desk is off limits to you. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal," he nods but doesn't hand back the stolen item, instead he opens the box and starts making a paper clip chain.

Kate watches him for a moment but doesn't demand them back, at least if he's got something to do then maybe he won't be annoying her.

He ends up with a chain that is about four foot long, the brightly coloured bits of metal forming a cheerful banner. Castle swings the length like a skipping rope, before he makes it slither like a snake across the surface of the desk, playing make-believe like he's nine years old again.

"Stop it Castle," Beckett can't concentrate on her work, not when he's making hissing sounds to accompany his pretend snake. "What is it going to take to get you to leave me alone for the couple of hours?" She's resorting to bargaining because, short of shooting him and hiding the body, she's got no other options.

"I'll leave you alone to do your work if you'll help me practice my moves later."

"Moves?"

He grins ever as his eyebrows waggle. "You know, _moves_. The ones where I've got my hands on your body and you're trying to pretend that you're not enjoying but we both know better because your breathing gets all ragged and uneven. Those _moves._"

She almost gasps at the sheer arrogance of the man. Her breathing has never gotten like that except from those times when he's made her so mad that she could spit. Beckett's about to open her mouth to slap him down when he bursts into laughter.

"I was talking about my dance moves of course. What kind of moves were you thinking of?" he says it so innocently as if daring her to contradict him.

Beckett refuses to play his game, he'll take any response as encouragement to continue in the same vein. If she accuses him of less than pure intentions he'll just grin and keep needling away at her.

"No." Her reply is curt and she doesn't bother with an explanation or justification. She puts her head down and gets back to her work, hopefully he'll pick up on her distinctly unfriendly vibe and leave her alone.

"Oh come on Beckett, please," he begs. "Julio and Maria said that I need to practice and there's no-one else I can dance with."

"You can practice by yourself."

"It's not the same as practicing with a partner, plus it looks dorky when I tango by myself." His begging deteriorates into whining.

"God forbid that you should look dorky," she mutters under her breath.

"Please, pretty please," he pulls out the puppy-dog eyes and sad pout.

Beckett knows that she won't get any more work done, not if he continues to sit there and annoy her. "I can't right now. This stuff has to be finished by six, I'm on a deadline. I need to concentrate if I want to get it done by then."

He sits up from his slouch, suddenly happy as if sensing an opening. "So we can dance after that, great," he says as if her agreement is already assured. "I'll come back at six then."

"No! I didn't say yes."

"Why not? You'll have finished your work by then."

"Castle, this might surprise you but I do have a life outside of work. I've got other plans for tonight." She's lying but he doesn't know that.

He leans forward, his elbows on her desk and his chin resting on his cupped hands. "Why Beckett, do you have a hot date tonight?" his tone is teasing.

For some reason she finds herself annoyed by the fact that he doesn't sound jealous at the prospect of her going out with another man, not that there is _anything_ going on between her and Castle. "I have dinner plans," she says it very primly, hoping that he won't dig any further but knowing that it's unlikely.

"And who is this lucky man?"

She considers continuing with a lie, it might be nice to rub his nose in the fact that other men find her desirable - Castle isn't the only one who is appealing to the opposite sex - but realizes that it's just easier to go with a half-truth.

"The crew are meeting up at a local restaurant for a meal and a few drinks." Which is technically true, Beckett omits the fact that she hadn't originally planned to go but a night away from the writer is sounding very appealing suddenly.

"Great, that sounds like fun. So I'll come back at six-thirty and we can go together." He stands up, suddenly eager to go before she realizes that he's conned her into spending another evening with him.

"Wait a minute Castle, not so fast. You can't just invite yourself along to dinner!" Beckett splutters with indignation. "What if the restaurant can't accommodate another diner? It might be fully booked."

He grins, she really is cute when she's angry and maybe that's why he enjoys pulling her pigtails so much. "Technically I didn't invite myself. Luke, the lighting guy, invited me earlier today when I was watching them set up the equipment in the courtyard area."

"Humph." She can't back out of it now, not when the implication will be that she's avoiding him, that he's won their little war.

"Don't look so upset Beckett, you can't expect to hog all of my time to yourself. Yes, there will be other people at dinner as well but I promise to sit next to you if it'll make you feel any better," he says it as if he hasn't spent the last twenty minutes staring at her creepily as she's doing paperwork and doing his utmost to distract her from her work.

"Castle ..." just the way she growls his name is a warning.

"See you later." He backs up rapidly, aware that she's on the edge of doing him bodily harm. He retreats quickly, happy to have gotten in the last word. Castle has a finely tuned instinct when it comes to knowing exactly how far he can push things, he often ignores that instinct but he's aware of where the line is drawn. Any longer and his ears would have been in danger, Beckett looks like an ear-twister. The writer grins as he walks out the door – yes, that was certainly more fun than a solo outing to the beach.

* * *

Of course Beckett isn't waiting for him when he knocks on her door at six-thirty. They might be eating a meal at the same place at the same time but she's determined to send him a very clear message that this wasn't a dinner date and it certainly wasn't because she wanted to spend any additional time with the arrogant writer.

She arrives at the restaurant at six-thirty, smiling to herself as she thinks about Castle who is probably knocking on the door of her empty room right about now. It'll be good for his over-inflated ego to realize that not every woman is trying to land Manhattan's white whale. Beckett scans the room and quickly finds a few of her fellow co-workers.

"Hi Marcus, is this seat taken?" Kate deliberately chooses the seat at the head of the table, the seats on either side of her already taken. _Ha!_ No chance of him inveigling his way into sitting next to her, it's bad enough that he managed to wheedle his way into dinner. This dinner is meant to be for the crew and he clearly isn't part of the crew.

"Hi Beckett. No, that seat's free, help yourself," Marcus, an earnest intern, waves for her to take the chair.

"Thanks." Kate drapes her jacket over the back of the seat and by the time Castle arrives she's deep in conversation with Marcus about the relative merits of reading the books versus watching the television series of _Game of Thrones_. Being an avid reader, Beckett prefers the written version although she's willing to concede that the television version is also fun.

The first thing that Castle notices on entering the restaurant is the smile on Beckett's face as she looks at him. For a second he's so disconcerted that he almost turns around to check if there's someone else standing behind him that is meant to be the recipient of that smile. But then the brunette looks deliberately at the occupied seats on either side of her and the meaning of that facial expression suddenly becomes clear. It's not an indication of her happiness to see him, rather it's a taunting grin. _Oops, sorry they're taken. I guess you'll have to sit somewhere else_ is what the upward tilt of those tempting lips is meant to convey.

Touché.

Castle shrugs his shoulders, conceding defeat gracefully. He might have won the first round but this round definitely goes to Beckett. The writer settles for a seat at the end of the table, it might be the one most distant from hers but it is directly opposite Beckett and he can watch her, it's something he does well.

The detective spends the entire meal trying to ignore the man but even if she's not looking at him she's far too aware of his voice. She can't quite make out what he's saying but his smooth tones are often followed by the loud laughs of the crew who are sitting near him. It's not surprising that he manages to charm them, a naturally outgoing and humorous guy, Castle has them in stitches as he recounts the story of growing up with his mother's theater friends.

It's a frustrating dinner for Beckett, a sensation that she's become all too familiar with since she met him. It takes all of her discipline not to sneak a glance in his direction. Knowing her luck he'd catch at it and then that knowing, arrogant grin would blossom across his face. She can't even enjoy the delicious food properly because she's concentrating so hard on ignoring him. In the end she decides to call it an early night, she's proved her point to him by forcing distance between them all evening, plus she's in no mood for drinking.

"You're not going to come out with us to the clubs?" Marcus sounds disappointed. "I was hoping for at least one dance."

Kate smiles and shakes her head, it's been evident all evening that the young guy has a bit of a crush on her which is kind of cute in a puppy-dog kind of way. "No, I feel my pillow calling. Good night everyone." She waves to the rest of the table before making her way to the front desk to pay for her part of the meal.

The cop is still digging in the pockets of her jacket to find her wallet when a hand reaches past her holding a black credit card. Beckett doesn't even need to turn around to know that it's him, she can already tell from the familiar scent of his aftershave.

"I can pay for my own meals and you can forget about impressing me by throwing your money around," she grouches at him.

"I know you can, and this isn't about impressing you." Castle looks at the head waiter, "I'd like to pay for the whole table please." He turns back to Beckett again. "I want to do this as a thank you to all the crew, I know how hard they work."

She can't argue against that and he seems sincere about his motivations. For some reason it doesn't surprise her that he can be so generous. Begrudging Beckett puts her money away.

"Would you like me to call a cab for you?" the waiter asks as he waits for the machine to process the credit card payment.

"No, it's a nice evening and I only have a few blocks to go. It'll be a nice walk." Beckett declines the offer.

"I'll join you then," Castle says, "seeing as we're going to the same place. Plus it wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to let you walk back by yourself."

She rolls her eyes at the comment. It's not that dark outside and there is enough foot traffic that it's safe for her to walk alone. Besides, she's a cop and although he's unaware of it, she's been in places a lot more dangerous than this by herself.

"You don't have to leave on my account Castle. It sounded like you were having fun back there. You should stay."

"I thought that you would have learnt your lesson by now, you can't get rid of me that easily Beckett." He opens the door for her and gestures for her to go first. "Besides, I have the chance to take an evening stroll with a beautiful woman. That's a much better option than going out to a noisy club."

She stares at him, waiting for the inevitable quip, smart remark or smirk but it isn't forthcoming. For once, he seems content to leave it on the right side of complimentary rather than descending into innuendo. It almost seems ..._sweet._

* * *

They walk back to the hotel in surprisingly companionable silence, for once the writer seems content to not speak. Maybe he's enjoying the quieter pace of life on the island, a change from his usual Manhattan existence.

They're still about a block away from the hotel when he abruptly stops.

"Wait here," he tells her even as he crosses the street, his tone serious and commanding. "I'll be back soon."

Beckett looks around, trying to spot what has caught his attention. What crazy stunt is the writer up to now?

Castle heads towards a couple who have just come out of a bar. The young woman is clearly intoxicated, barely able to stand, her weight supported by the man who's leading her around to the side of the building.

"Hey, are you ok Miss?" Rick asks the girl. "Do you want me to call someone for you?" Maybe he's misreading the situation. This guy could be the girl's friend, or boyfriend, or brother for all he knows. But until she confirms that she's leaving voluntarily with the man then Castle isn't going to walk away. At this moment all he sees is a drunken girl, who barely looks older than Alexis, in a very vulnerable position.

"Hey man, mind your own business. This has got nothing to do with you."

Castle ignores the growled threat and questions the girl again. "Do you know this guy?"

She barely manages to lift her head and stares blearily at the man beside her. "No," she looks back at the writer. "Where's Kristy? I came here with Kristy." Her voice is so slurred that it's hard to make out the words but one thing is evident, the man is a stranger to her.

"I don't think it's a good idea for her to be going anywhere with you," Castle frowns at the man.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" the guy drops his arm from around the girl and she slumps against the nearest car. He takes a threatening step closer to Castle.

"Hey, I'm not looking for a fight." Rick holds his hands up in a peaceful gesture.

"Then you shouldn't have poked your nose into other people's business."

The first punch comes with minimal warning but Castle manages to duck his head to avoid being hit in the face. Unfortunately the second punch connects solidly with his abdomen, Castle keels over as the wind is driven out of him. There's the ominous sound of a switchblade opening and he tenses waiting for another blow to land whilst he's vulnerable but it never does. He braces his hands on his knees as he looks up to see what saved him.

"Beckett?" he manages to croak.

"Castle, could I get a little help here?" Beckett is standing behind the man, his face pressed into the wall, his arm twisted behind his back and the knife lying harmlessly on the street. She's using leverage to prevent him from struggling, any further movements and she'll pop his shoulder out of joint. "Use your phone and call the cops. I don't want to stay here like this forever."

It's twenty minutes later by the time the cops sort out the mess, the guy is taken into custody and they've given their statements. The girl had sobered up enough to supply a phone number and her father had been so grateful when he'd turned up to take her home. There had been multiple handshakes and even a hug, the man knew how lucky his daughter was that Castle had intervened.

"Do you want a lift?" one of the officers asks them.

Beckett looks at the writer, he looks like he has the post-adrenaline jitters. She knows that feeling well, it's the shakes that come when the endorphins have worn off and you realize the danger that you'd been in.

"No, I think we'll walk, it's not far." She slips her hand around Castle's arm and leads him away, the walk will help calm him down. "That was pretty brave what you did back there," she tells him. "A lot of people wouldn't have wanted to get involved, they would've look the other way."

He shrugs, "I thought you were going to say that it was a very stupid thing to do. Besides, I didn't do very much other than get myself beaten up and almost knifed. You were the hero. I felt like a bit of a fraud when her dad kept thanking me like that."

"Well the execution left a bit to be desired but the intention was good." Beckett smiles at him. "I didn't even see her, so if you hadn't stopped then things could have ended quite badly for that girl."

"I couldn't _not_ intervene. She looks barely older than my daughter, Alexis. I kept thinking if Alexis was in the same situation then I would hope that someone else would do the same for her, so there was no way I could just walk past."

"You're a good man Richard Castle."

"Really? You really think so?"

"Yes."

"Well I hope you remember those words the next time I piss you off," he jokes.

She nods silently, she does mean it and she won't forget.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

To the casual observer it looks as if she's waiting patiently in line for her turn at the coffee cart. Beckett doesn't react when a man joins the end of the queue behind her.

"Have you got anything to report?" Ralph Henderson is her FBI handler, a fifteen year veteran with the Bureau. He pretends to be reading a newspaper as he carefully avoids looking directly at her. There's a team that monitoring the audio signal being transmitted from her high-tech glasses but she still needed to check in every few days for instructions.

"No, it all seems legit so far. Curran made an appearance a couple of days and I managed to get introduced to him. I think I made a good impression."

"Good," Henderson says. "Stick with Castle as much as possible; he's your ticket to get to Curran."

"Are you sure he's involved?" Beckett can't help but question it, she's spent time with Castle and her gut is saying he's innocent. As a cop she deals in fact and proof but she's also developed an instinct for sensing guilt and Rick Castle isn't triggering any of her alarms. He could have chosen to ignore the situation with that girl last night but he hadn't. Logically Beckett knew that it didn't clear him of a different crime but it does go towards showing his character. Underneath the annoying, charmer is a surprisingly decent man.

"We've got emails and travel schedules that seem to match him to drug shipment delivery dates. It's circumstantial at the moment but it's compelling. Why?" Henderson risks a glance at her.

Beckett shakes her head, "It's nothing." The FBI are probably right, she's got nothing to base Castle's innocence on other than a nagging feeling.

"What about the sim card? Have you managed to slip it into the writer's phone yet?" Henderson asks. The duplicate sim card is a remarkable piece of technology, it would turn Castle's phone into a listening device so that the FBI could monitor him continuously and not just when he made a phone call.

"No, I haven't had a chance to do that yet. There haven't been any opportunities yet."

The phone was always with him, it never left his sight. She'd come to conclusion that her only chance to switch over the sim cards would be at night when he was asleep but it's a big risk sneaking into his bedroom.

"Ok, but it's important to plant that bug if you can."

Beckett gives an abbreviated nod to show that she understands before she grabs her cup of coffee and leaves the agent standing on the side of the street as she walks back to the hotel.

She takes a sip as she strolls over the narrow cobblestone streets that characterized this part of town. It was the oldest area on the island, and not much had changed since the first Spanish arrivals had settled here. The detective takes her time, enjoying the relative peace of this short period of time when she didn't have to pretend.

Constantly having to be careful about what she said or did was tiring. Although she'd done some undercover work in Vice, usually as the bait on the side of the street, it had been nothing like this. Those short stints of play-acting hadn't really prepared her for this.

She is only a few days into her cover and there could be weeks ahead still. The detective has already found herself slipping, occasions when she'd behaved like Kate Beckett, homicide detective, instead of Karen Beckett, production assistant. Bits and pieces of her true nature kept peeking through despite her best efforts. The worst times were when Castle managed to get under her skin with his annoying ways, she couldn't help but react as Kate Beckett and slap his ego down when she felt he deserved it. There was no way that she could fawn after him even though that kind of reaction would be more in character for the person she was meant to be.

She strolls past a pair of elderly men who are engaged in a chess game on the foot path. An upturned crate forms the table where the board rests and a couple of folding chairs bracket it, she has to skirt slightly onto the road to get around them.

Honk!

The sound of the car horn startles her, she hadn't been paying enough attention to the traffic and for a second she thinks that she might be in danger of getting run over. A red Ferrari convertible sits purring on the road at a complete stop a good ten feet away from her. There's no sound of screeching brakes and Beckett realizes that the horn was to get her attention rather than a warning of danger.

A pair of sunglasses sits perched on his face but she doesn't need to see his eyes to recognize the face. Castle is grinning widely, one hand on the steering wheel, the other arm resting on the door.

"Hey Beckett. I'm headed out to Ocean Park beach now, do you want a ride?"

For a second the cop contemplates walking away but it's not everyday that she gets to see a high performance machine like this, up-front and personal, plus Henderson did say that she should stick with Castle. Beckett walks over to the driver's side, admiring the clean lines of the Italian design. It's showy and pretentious but she has to admit that he does look good behind the wheel.

"That's a sweet car Castle, did you hire it?" she asks.

"Yeah, I've got it for the week. How awesome is that? I'm enjoying it so much I might have to get one when I'm back in New York."

"That is pretty cool," she has to admit. "I thought that your photo shoot at the beach wasn't until eleven?"

"I thought I'd head out early and do some touristy things before the shoot. I heard there's a surf school nearby and I've always wanted to try surfing. I've a couple hours to spare this morning so I thought why not?"

"Ok, I'll come with you but only if I get to drive," she bargains.

"Oh." His face falls for a second. "I'm not sure that it would be a good idea. This is a Ferrari. It's a high performance vehicle, designed to respond to your every whim, your every movement …"

Her arched brow lets him know what she thinks of his weak arguments. "Move over Writer Boy."

"Fine. And that's Writer Man." He gives in with a pout as he exits the vehicle and walks over to the passenger's side, allowing her to get behind the wheel. "Are you sure you can drive a stick-shift?"

She snorts at the question, easing into the driver's seat and clicks in her seat belt; she looks over at the writer. "You'd better buckle up Castle." That's the only warning that she gives him before the car pulls out into traffic in a squeal of tires, the acceleration knocking him back into his seat.

"Thanks for the warning Beckett," he says in an aggrieved tone.

The brunette chuckles as he grabs onto the dashboard to steady himself. It doesn't take long before they've escaped the slower moving traffic and gotten onto the Expreso Román Baldorioty de Castro.

She concentrates on driving and enjoying the responsiveness of the highly engineered vehicle, the purr of the motor makes a comforting hum in the background. Her hair is whipping around madly, the bulk of it streaming behind her but the odd lock flicks across her face. Driving a convertible reminds her of the sensation of taking a ride on her Harley, you're not as confined as in a sedan, there's one less layer between you and the road. That feeling of freedom is a heady rush.

He concentrates on observing her, stealing glances her way from behind his sunglasses. This is the most relaxed that he's ever seen her. There's no furrowed brow or scowl on her face, that faint air of irritation that he's used to seeing has vanished. She's grinning, a real, honest-to-god grin of pleasure. It looks good on her, although to be honest, most expressions look good on her.

"Where did you learn to drive a stick shift?" he has to shout a bit to be heard.

Beckett has to shift down a gear as they slow behind a freight truck; she glances over her shoulder to check the fast lane is clear before pulling out and overtaking the slower vehicle. "On a race track actually."

His eyebrows lift at this revelation.

"I had a boyfriend in college who used to drive stock cars; he wasn't a professional, more of an enthusiastic amateur. It looked like a lot of fun so I convinced him to teach me how to drive a shift stick. Racing cars are always manual transmission, it makes the car more challenging to drive but it also makes it more responsive. The relationship didn't last more than a semester but I got a taste for fast cars and racing around a track." Beckett steps on the clutch as she shifts back into top gear again, the big engine revving and then accelerating as she zips around the slower traffic around them.

Castle is almost disappointed when they reach the golden sands of Ocean Park beach, he'd enjoyed the drive. She pulls into an angled park, the nose of the car pointing out to the ocean. It's early enough that the beach isn't packed yet, there's only a few keen surfers bobbing in the water, waiting for the next big wave to arrive. They spot the shop quickly, it's right next to the boardwalk. Decorated to look like a rustic shack it has a thatched-straw roof and a row of surf boards beside the door, they're half-buried, upright in the sand like a line of soldiers standing at ease.

Beckett pulls the keys out of the ignition and hands them off to him. "I'll see you in two hours then," she says as they both get out of the car.

"Wait a minute, aren't you going to try surfing as well? We could get a private lesson with the instructor," he pleads. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"I don't have a swim suit here," the detective points out.

"I wouldn't be offended if you wanted to go skinny dipping," he says with a cheeky grin. "But if your modesty won't allow it then I'm sure they probably sell swim suits as well as surf boards and lessons. It wouldn't hurt to at least check."

"Well …"

"Come on." Castle grabs her hand and drags her off to the shop before she can protest. Normally that kind of behavior from a guy would land him flat on his ass but the cop doesn't put up much of a fight, mainly because learning to surf actually sounds like fun.

It turns out there is a small selection of bikinis and Castle pulls an exaggerated leer as she flicks through the hangers looking over her choices.

"Stop drooling," the brunette rebukes him as she picks out a blue and black pattern, she might be just the tiniest bit flattered by the attention but he'll never know it. There's a nice feeling of power to know that she can torment him with the thought of her in the small strips of fabric. "It's not like you'll get to see it anyway because I'll be wearing a wetsuit over the top of it."

"That's a pity," he says in a mournful tone, "but if you'd like to model it for me later then I'd be a happy man."

Beckett barks out a laugh as she leaves him at the counter and heads over to the female change rooms. In another setting, with any other guy, she'd take offense at the comment. Kate doesn't want to examine too closely the reason why it's ok when Castle says those things.

* * *

"You're staring and it's creepy." Beckett tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear as they follow the instructor down the beach.

Castle pulls his gaze forward again but he can't help the occasional darting glance. "Sorry," he apologizes, "it's just that you look different without your glasses. You're pretty with them on but you're stunning without them. It's like those movies where the sexy librarian changes into the hot swimsuit model." He doesn't mention the fact that the skin-tight wet suit displays her figure very nicely, although he's noticed that as well.

"I bet that was a favourite teenage fantasy of yours," she raises an eyebrow.

Castle gives an overly enthusiastic nod, "hell, it's still a favourite fantasy now. Did you leave the glasses off to make my dreams come true?"

He looks too goofy as he says it for Beckett to take offense. "Dream on Castle. I can't really go in the water with them, they might get lost if they get knocked off," she explains, plus goodness knows what the salt water might do to the electronic listening device embedded in them.

"Ok guys, let's stop here." Their instructor, Chuck, drops his board down on the sand near the water's edge and motions for them to do the same with theirs.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but don't you need to be in the water to surf?" Castle asks.

Chuck laughs. "You need to learn to walk before you can run, or in this case you need to master it on a stationary object before we tackle doing it in the surf. I want you to practice getting up from a prone position on the surf board to standing. It's harder than it seems and it'll only get harder when you do it whilst battling the motion of the waves. I'll go first and then you guys have a try."

Beckett follows the instructions seriously, repeating the drills several times until she's happy. Castle, on the other hand, treats it like a joke. He hams it up as he balances on the stationary surf board, his arms stretched out and bouncing around like he's in a Beach Boys' music video.

"Hey Beckett, look at me. Do I look like Californian surfer dude?" the writer asks her.

"You look like something," her tone implies that he looks like an idiot, maybe a cute idiot but an idiot nonetheless.

"If you guys are ready then let's try it on the water." Chuck leads them into the surf up to waist height. "I want you to get on your stomachs on the board, paddle out a little bit with your arms then try standing up."

Chuck is right, it's much harder doing it in the water. There are more than a few spills but Beckett's competitive nature won't allow her to give up. She ends up in the drink multiple times but each time she gets back on her board and tries again until she finally manages to stand up for a full minute. The brunette keeps at it until she can manage to stand up in at least half of her attempts. She's worn out by the time she collapses onto her butt, happy to let her feet dangle in the water as she sits astride the surf board.

The detective has been concentrating so hard on her own efforts that she hasn't noticed what Castle has been doing up to now. The man is a klutz, like some overgrown puppy with limbs bent awkwardly and no balance at all. Castle looks completely uncoordinated, he barely manages to get up on his knees before the front of the board tips up and he goes for another dunk in the water.

Beckett can't help the chuckle that escapes her at the confused look on his face as he bobs in the sea, hair slicked back by the water, as if he can't quite figure out exactly how he ended up like this.

"I really thought that I had it that time, I was almost there."

The cop rolls her eyes at his overly optimistic evaluation.

"Chuck I think that there's something wrong with my board," the writer complains.

"The only problem with your board is the person standing on it," she teases him. "Maybe we need to get you the equivalent of training wheels on a bike."

Castle sends a splash of water in her direction to let her know what he thinks of the suggestion, droplets hitting her chest and face. She grins despite the dripping water and kicks some water back at him.

Their instructor is a bit more diplomatic. "You just need to work on getting your centre of gravity over the middle of the board, try standing a little further forward."

Rick tries again and this time he manages to get to his feet at least before the board starts to wobble and he splashes sideways. When his head finally surfaces he has the biggest grin on his face, you'd think that he'd won a gold medal for his effort. His eyes crinkle and his mouth is curved up in a smile as his whole face glows with pure pleasure.

"Did you see that? Did you see what I did Beckett?"

She has to smile back because the sheer joy on his face demands it, that little-boy-grin lighting up his features and her heart stutters a bit. Out of all his smiles, this is the one that she likes the best. Maybe it's because it's completely natural, there's no façade or ulterior motive. Maybe it's because he looks like a big kid with this smile. Or maybe …just maybe, she likes this smile the best because it's intimate, just for her; it's not the same smile that he flashes at a dozen other women.

When she can't bear it any more she has to look away. "I saw it," she assures him as she pretends to fuss with her hair, flicking the wet tendrils behind her. "Kelly Slater had better watch out." And so should she.

* * *

She sits on the end of the pier, her feet dangling above the dappled water, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin. Her hair lies in bedraggled lines; the evaporating sea water leaves fine salt crystals behind like tiny diamonds. She'd divested herself of the wetsuit after the lesson but she hasn't gotten changed back into her clothes yet, content to sit in her swim suit for now, a towel draped around her waist.

"Here you go," Castle hands over a cold plastic cup, beads of condensation on the outside, before he takes a seat next to her. "One Coke slushie."

"Thanks," she takes an appreciative sip, the day is getting hotter and the cold treat is a welcome respite.

"You're welcome," the writer takes a big mouthful from his own cup and immediately regrets it. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow! Brain freeze."

Beckett chuckles at his pathetic whimpers; Castle is such a drama queen. "You need to drink it more slowly."

He shrugs his shoulders as the discomfort starts to fade. "I know, Alexis is always telling me off for it but I forget every time."

"Alexis?" Her eyebrows lift in a questioning manner.

"My daughter," Castle explains. "She's fourteen going on forty."

"That's right you mentioned her last night. It sounds like she's a sensible girl."

"Oh she is," he says with obvious pride. "Alexis is smart and responsible and very level-headed. Sometimes it's difficult to tell who is parenting whom, she's far more sensible than I am."

The detective's lips quirk slightly at his self-deprecating humor. "Imagine that, a teenager who is more sensible than you. So what is Alexis up to while you're doing this show?"

"I wanted her to come to Puerto Rico but she declined," he says morosely. "She's gone to visit her mother in LA for a week and then she has summer science camp for three weeks, this will be the longest period of time that we've spent apart. Other than my brief second marriage, it's just been the two of us ever since her mother left when Alexis was five."

Beckett is surprised by his admission, she would never have pictured Rick Castle as a devoted father but he seems sincere, there's no doubting his obvious love and pride in his daughter.

"Seriously, what kind of teenager would rather go to science camp rather than spend their vacation lounging on a beach?" His words might be a complaint but it's clear that he's not-so-secretly proud of his daughter. "Plus she said that she had no desire to see all these women competing for her father, the celebrity playboy."

"She sounds very sensible, I like her already." Beckett gives him a sly, sideways grin. "Are you sure that she's your daughter?"

"Oh no, she's definitely a Castle," he chuckles, taking no offense at the suggestion. "I think that Alexis would like you as well, you both have a lot in common; she's not exactly a fan of my partying lifestyle. I try to keep that part of my life away from her but she's far too perceptive."

Beckett averts her eyes from the tender look on the writer's face as he talks about his daughter. The last twenty-four hours have been a revelation; it's shown her a whole different side to the man. From the boyish goofball on the surfboard to the dedicated solo father, this is a Rick Castle that she never expected, this is a man that she could actually like.

The cop stares out at the distant horizon, trying to ignore strange fluttering in her stomach. When Beckett took on this assignment she'd been warned about the dangers involved, she thought that she knew what to expect. Why hadn't anyone warned her that an attraction to a suspect was one of the potential risks? This could make things so much harder.

**A/N: I've never been to Puerto Rico so sorry if the descriptions are all wrong. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and a big thanks to the reviewers.**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

This is the smile that Beckett hates the most, that cocky, 'yeah you want me' grin that she can't bear. Such a change from the guy she spent the morning learning to surf with. Castle's eyes are shaded by the sunglasses so it's hard to tell exactly whom the smile is aimed at – the photographer taking a hundred shots a minute or the two models that are using the writer like some kind of stripper pole.

The women are meant to be dressed like beach volleyball players, the net forms the background and Castle's got an arm around each busty model as he grins madly. No doubt he's in paradise with two beautiful women trailing their hands over his chest and shoulders.

"Traci, can you serve the ball over here?" Stan, the photographer, calls out instructions to one of the models. "Pretend that you're playing."

It's obvious that Traci has never even been near a volleyball court in her life, let alone played the sport, because she serves it underhand. The ball arcs in a gentle lob to land in the sand only a few feet away from Beckett as she waits in the shade.

"Can you toss it back please Beckett?" Stan calls out to her. She's been roped in to help because the photographer's usual assistant had called in sick. Her tasks mainly consist of handing Stan whichever piece of camera equipment he asks for and helping to move the props.

The cop leans over to pick up the ball, tossing it up in the air a few times as she contemplates spiking it back into Castle's big, fat, smirking face. The thought of it makes her grin evilly for a second, she would love to do it but it might give him a false impression. Knowing Castle he'd assume that she is upset with him which would be completely wrong. She's not upset, not at all. Watching the way that he's behaving with Traci and Sydney didn't bother her, it didn't remind her that there would soon be ten women competing for his attention and that damn man would be lapping up their attention like a cat with cream. Beckett settles for throwing it back with just a little more force than necessary but _not_ at his stupid, smiling face.

Castle catches it with an 'oomph' and a staggering step sideways to get his balance. He sends a questioning frown in Beckett's direction.

"Sorry, the ball slipped," she apologizes with a bright smile.

It didn't slip and they both know it but he can't do a thing about it as the photographer calls Castle's attention back to shoot.

"Rick I need you to lose the sunglasses now."

The writer takes them off but then looks around for a place to put them.

"Beckett, can you take those for him?" Stan asks. "And bring the spray bottle as well, he needs a couple of squirts of it to his chest and face. I want Rick to look as if he's been working up a sweat."

Castle hands over his sunglasses cautiously, uncertain of what to expect from the brunette. He'd thought that she'd begun to warm to him earlier today when they had their surfing lesson but now it seems like she's freezing him out again. The writer doesn't know what he's said or done to anger her but Beckett is definitely pissed.

"Is something wrong?" he whispers in a low voice so they're not overheard.

"No." She snatches the glasses off him abruptly, her actions seem to contradict her words.

"So we're good?" he asks hesitantly.

"Of course." She sprays him directly in the face with the water without any warning.

The unexpected cool mist of water makes him blink rapidly in surprise as he jerks back instinctively.

"Sorry, my finger must have slipped," the cop apologizes again with false regret before marching back to the shade before he can recover.

He'd like to pull her back, to demand what's got her so pissy, but instead he plasters on that fake smile that Beckett hates so much and turns his attention back to the camera.

Stan takes a few more photos, spending half an hour just to get the one perfect shot of Rick balancing on a board – they'll just Photoshop that image so it looks like he's in the water rather than just on the beach - before calling it a day. He's got hundreds of pics already, plus it's getting too hot under the sun to continue. Even though the camera's no longer clicking it doesn't stop the touching and flirting. The models each hook an arm around one of Castle's as he escorts them to the marquee tent where Beckett has taken shelter.

"Can I get you ladies a drink from the cooler?" he asks with exaggerated politeness that makes Beckett roll her eyes. "I don't know about you but I've certainly worked up a thirst."

"Sorry Rick but we've got to get to another job now," Sydney seems regretful about leaving. "Maybe we'll see you around though? You still owe us an autograph."

"Well that is a shame but I'll make sure to send you both a signed copy of my latest Storm novel."

There's a lot of giggling as the models wave their goodbyes and Castle is still looking at their retreating figures when a cold can is thrust into his chest.

"Ow! What the …" he flinches, arching his back to get away from the freezing object.

"I thought that you said you were thirsty," Beckett explains. "I was just trying to help."

He grabs the can off her before she can do any more damage. "What's gotten into you? Earlier today you were all smiles but now you're acting all weird."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she shrugs off his question, giving him her back as she packs up her bag.

Castle tilts his head as he considers her for a second. She's moody, giving him the silent treatment and denying that anything is wrong. Of course, he should have realized it immediately. "You're jealous," his tone is almost gleeful. He's pleased that Beckett's jealous, she wouldn't be jealous unless she felt at least _something_ for him. "All that attention I was paying to Traci and Sydney made you see green."

"Jealous? In your dreams Castle," she huffs with indignation as she turns to look at him. The frown on her face would have intimidated more sensible men.

"Actually, in my dreams you're never jealous, you just join ...ow!"

She's grabbed him ear in a painful twist before he can finish the sentence.

"I'm not jealous," she insists. _Liar, liar, pants on fire_, her inner voice is yelling at her.

The writer rubs at his ear as he retreats to a safe distance before he pokes the bear again. "I've been married and divorced twice, I know what jealous looks like and you're displaying all the characteristics of it. Come on Beckett, just admit it, you were jealous." From the way that she's glaring at him Castle knows that he's risking further serious injury by pursuing this but he only has a nodding acquaintance with common sense; if it's fun he'll happily do it despite the danger and teasing Beckett is about the most fun that he's had on this trip. "I knew that you'd be powerless to resist me. There's nothing to be ashamed about, I am charming and ruggedly handsome after all."

He's dead, oh god, she's going to kill him, why was he so stupid as to bait her in the first place? The look in her eye promises murder and when her hand snaps out towards his head he's already wincing at the anticipated return of pain. But instead of grabbing his ear or slapping his face she's grabbing the back of his head and suddenly her lips are devouring him.

Castle freezes, he's so stunned by the kiss that he can't immediately respond. It's an angry, punishing affair; her teeth aren't gentle as she bites his bottom lip hard enough for it to sting and then she's sucking on it and her tongue thrusts into his mouth. Her fingers clench in the short hair at his nape, a frustrated moan escaping her lips as she vents all her conflicted feelings.

It's that low growl that breaks him out of his fugue. He has no idea why Beckett is doing this but he won't question his good fortune. His hands circle around her back, pulling her closer even as his tongue delves into her mouth, duelling with hers as they compete on a different kind of battlefield.

He tastes so damn good, her fingers snake through his hair – short and prickly at the back, yet so soft as it falls over his eyes. His big palms are cupping her ass, kneading the tensed muscles and almost hoisting her off her feet as she grinds against him. The friction is delicious but it's still not enough; there are too many layers of clothing in the way, she needs to feel skin on skin. Her hand steals under the waistband of his shorts …

No!

The brunette pulls away with a startled, horrified expression on her face, her hands held out in front of her as if to ward him off. Oh god, what was she thinking? Crap, she's stuffed up, really stuffed up - making out with a suspect in a federal investigation! Her hand goes up instinctively to her face but they don't encounter the glasses that she's expecting. She must have forgotten to put them back on again after she got changed out of her swimsuit and that is the sole piece of good news in this sorry mess. Her cheeks are flaming hot with embarrassment at her colossal lack of judgment but it would be even worse if her FBI team had been listening the entire time.

"Hmmm…?" Castle's still in a tailspin because Beckett just kissed him.

Beckett kissed him!

He reaches out to pull her back again but she resists and it finally dawns on him that something is not right, she's not falling back into his arms like he'd hoped.

"No Castle, stop." Her hand on his chest stops any further advance.

_Stop? __Stopping is the last thing that he wants to do, things were just starting to look good._

"Come on Beckett, why should we stop? I think you were enjoying that and I certainly was," he tries to coax her, he leans in again.

"No, I wasn't." Her hand plants firmly on his chest, forcing distance between them.

"I'm not buying that for a second. Beckett, you were totally into me," his eyebrows waggle. "You kissed me first." He can't help the glee that colours his voice. Beckett kissed him!

The cop shakes her head vehemently. "I can't do this, it's unprofessional and I could lose my job."

His enthusiasm punctures as quickly as a deflated balloon. "Oh, yeah I guess you're right." He looks glum for a second but then his mouth crinkles into that familiar cocky grin. "Even if we can't do anything about it, at least you admitted it."

Beckett is honestly confused, what the hell is he going on about now? "What are you talking on about?"

"Just the fact that you admitted that you _like_ me." He emphasizes like with a knowing smirk.

"I never said that."

"But you didn't deny it either."

"I don't _like _you." But her denial is a little too pointed and a little too late.

"Oh, I beg to differ. Look at the facts Beckett, you kissed me first." He points out the glaringly obvious.

"That was a mistake, you were just pissing me off and it happened." Kate shakes her head in denial. It's hard to tell who she is trying to rationalize her actions to, Castle or herself?

"So do you kiss every guy that annoys you? Or only the ruggedly handsome ones?" he can't help but tease her.

She takes a deep breath, he's getting to her, somehow he always manages to get under her skin and she needs to stop it. "That was ... uncharacteristic of me and a mistake that won't happen again. I apologize and I hope that this won't affect our working relationship. Please can we just forget this ever happened?"

There, that sounded cool and professional. Exactly what she was aiming for and it's what would have normally come so easily to her.

He tilts his head as he considers her for a few second. "If that's the way you want it, it's as if it never happened." Castle grins before he adds, "It's a shame though. You're very cute when you get all jealous."

"Argh!" The man is so maddening. Beckett glares at him for a second before she storms off, if she stays a second longer then she might just slap him or even worse, kiss him again.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Be careful what you wish for, lest it come true. That's how the saying goes and it certainly applies in this case.

He's doing it on purpose to annoy her, Beckett isn't sure of exactly what or how he is doing it but she's sure that it is deliberate and it is designed to antagonize her.

Castle is being polite, respectful and professional. There are no more inappropriate flirting comments, he didn't push the boundaries that she'd imposed. Since the kiss on the beach their dealings were about as impersonal as the interactions that she had with the computerized voice of her car's navigation system. She hates it.

Beckett places the takeaway cartons on the table in front of him. "Here's the Tom Yum soup and satay chicken that you ordered."

"Thanks Beckett," the writer nods his appreciation before giving his attention back to the woman who's doing his hair.

Kate snags her own container with the Thai waterfall beef salad and retreats to a chair in the corner, choosing a position that takes her out of his view. Tonight is the first night of filming and the schedule is too tight to allow a proper break for dinner, they're having to take their meals when and where they can. She surreptitiously watches Castle as he chats with Margie, the hair stylist. The woman has got to be at least sixty but the man is still laughing and flirting with her. It seems as if he's incapable of not laying on the charm for anyone female, anyone apart from Beckett that is.

He's keeping his distance, behaving like they were only acquaintances, respecting her wishes and it's driving her nuts. Beckett had asked him to back off and now that he is she's finding it annoys her even more than when he used to push the boundaries. This is madness, she needs to concentrate on her job. She shouldn't be having a pity party because Castle is freezing her out, it's not as if they'd been friends in the first place.

She analyzes the problem like she would any case that she was working one. What were the facts and how did they relate to the problem?

The problem is that she's acting like a sex-starved teenager – no, even worse. Beckett wasn't this bad even when she was a teenager.

Fact 1 – Castle isn't her type. Beckett didn't go for flashy and obvious, not the publicity hog with charm to burn. Since she got past her wild child phase the boyfriends she's had, and yes there's only been a few, have been more low key, more responsible – like male versions of herself.

Fact 2 – she should be able to turn him down flat. Beckett is no newbie when it comes to the dance between the sexes. Castle's a good looking guy but she's said no to men just as handsome before. Yes, he's smart and charming and he flirts like a pro but she doesn't finding it flattering, not when he uses that same charm indiscriminately on every woman that he meets.

Fact 3 – despite her dislike of the writer, he is still getting to her. Why and how Castle is managing to get around her usually impenetrable walls is a mystery. The sneaky bastard somehow manages to provoke her into uncharacteristic behavior, and yes, that kiss was definitely the result of provocation. Beckett glares at the back of his head, the writer grabs a satay stick and munches, seemingly ignorant of her hostile stare. Yep, pretending ignorance is definitely provocation – she'd like to throw her spoon at his fat, ego-inflated head.

Fact 4 – he's interesting. No matter what she thinks of him as a person, she has to admit that there was a certain zing, an energy in the air whenever they interact. He is annoying, childish and inappropriate but he's never boring. He pulls her pigtails and keeps her off balance. But of course she'd never consider going to bed with him, she's got far too much control to let her glands take over like that.

Fact 5 - it's been a while since she's had a boyfriend and Castle is a very good kisser. That's not too surprising, no doubt he gets lots of opportunities to practice and it makes her wonder if he's just as good with his other bedroom skills. Beckett's a young, healthy woman who enjoys sex. Encounters might not be frequent but when she's in the mood then there's nothing like skin-on-skin. She bites her bottom lip, the thought of sharing a bit of skin-on-skin with Castle momentarily distracting her before she corrects her wayward brain. Unfortunately it's been a bit of a dry spell, ok make that a drought of Saharan proportions, as far as her love life is concerned.

All of those facts combine to give her with a severe case of the jitters. She needs to go for a run or punch it out with a sparring session at the gym or jump into bed with some reasonably attractive guy who wasn't the subject of her investigation. Beckett shakes her head, somehow her brain keeps circling back to sex. First thing tomorrow morning she's going for ten mile run, that would sort her out and if it didn't then maybe she'd throw in a cold shower as well.

* * *

The waiters circulate through the crowd of beautiful women, handing out flutes of champagne. The women stand in pairs or small groups, chatting and eying each other up as they assess their competition. For now the mood is anticipatory but you can tell that could all change rapidly.

Beckett looks out over the gathering from the obscurity of the sidelines, she's quite happy to be in the shadows as opposed to being in the limelight. The women who are competing, and it certainly is a competition, for Castle are all beautiful. No, make that stunning. It's like watching the evening dress parade at a beauty pageant, there's not one female who would look out of place at a fashion shoot.

There are four cameras discreetly positioned around the inner courtyard, close enough to catch any jealous tantrums, overt flirting or devious machinations but hopefully not too close as to discourage 'natural behaviour.' It is like watching the mating rituals of chimps at the zoo, although the chimps are probably more polite.

The cop observes the glittering group with a cynical eye. What kind of woman looks for romance on a television show? They're either incredibly naïve and romantic or they're more interested in the brief fame and publicity, she's inclined to believe the latter. In other words, the women here are a perfect match for Castle – extroverted, publicity hogs, happy to wallow in the gossip pages of the tabloid press.

A ripple of excitement goes through the crowd, the buzz of idle chatter dies as all the heads turn in one direction. Like a school of brightly colored tropical fish the women all push forward to cluster around the tuxedo-clad man making his entrance. Castle's flashing that charming, cocky smile at his adoring audience. Beckett can't believe the way that these women seem to be lapping it up. The way that they're competing to gain his attention is enough to make her gag. No doubt that all this female adoration is further inflating his supersized ego, he'll be even more impossible to deal with after this.

Rick makes his way through the group, stopping to talk with each contestant, making each woman feel like she's the only one that he's interested in. It's a knack that he's honed from years of book signings. It might only be a few minutes but for that brief period each woman has his undivided attention.

"Hi Rick, it's Jenni Stemper."

"Jenni, what a lovely name for a lovely woman" he compliments her. He takes her offered hand and lifts it to his lips to brush a kiss across the back. "It's a pleasure to see you again."

"Really Castle?" the cop scoffs under her breath at the cliché move as she watches the camera monitor, his words being picked up by the mic that he's wearing. Only an idiot would fall for that old line.

He suddenly looks up and stares into the darker off-screen area and directly at Beckett's location. She shies back behind the bulk of the camera equipment, she'd swear that there's no way he could have possibly heard her, or even seen her, the shadows are too dark this far back but his stare seems too purposeful.

Kate shakes her head at the fanciful thought – no, Castle isn't staring at her. It's probably some light behind her that caught his attention. Maybe she should go and check out his room whilst he is occupied down here. She doesn't need to be here to witness these women all fawning over Castle. If she's lucky then he might have left his phone behind and she'd get her chance to slip in the phony SIM card. Beckett turns and walks off the set, determined to ignore the party going on behind her.

Castle turns his attention back to the woman in front of him and dials up the charm even further. "Can I say that you look absolutely gorgeous tonight?" His gaze lingers appreciatively over the bare upper slopes of her breasts that are revealed by the plunging neckline of her dress.

"Thank you." Jenni simpers behind a falsely modest smile. "I'm a huge fan of your books, maybe I could get your autograph at some stage."

"Not only beautiful but a woman with good taste as well," he compliments her. "I'm sorry but I don't have a pen on me at the moment. If you bring me your book later though I'll be sure to sign it."

"I'm going to hold you to that but it's not just a book that I'd like to get signed," Jenni brushes her hand suggestively across her chest.

"Naughty, naughty girl." He wags his finger at her as his grin gets wider. "Luckily for you I like naughty."

It's not the only proposition that he receives that night, it's not even the most explicit. The more lewd ones he brushes off with a laugh. Castle isn't a prude and while he'd normally be tempted by some of the offers, he's aware of the cameras that are focused on him, there just some things that he won't do on screen.

It's hard to keep track of all the names and faces but he tries. Tomorrow he has to pick three of the women to go on separate dates with. There's a morning hot-air balloon trip then a beach-side afternoon picnic and an evening dinner. The problem is that there's no-one who stands out. They're all blending into one homogenized bland mess. No doubt he could probably spend a few hours on a date with any one of them but who would he choose to share a bunker with if the zombie apocalypse hit? Even as he smiles and flirts Castle is aware that he'd be bored within a week.

"I'm your biggest fan. Where do you get your ideas from?"

It's like ground-hog day, he's having the same conversation over and over again in a repetitive loop. Maybe it's unfair of him to judge on such brief interactions but none of the women here spark more than a mild interest from him.

Actually that's not true, there is one woman here who he finds intriguing but she's not amongst the contestants. A short while ago he'd managed to catch a glimpse of her but he lost track of her after that. Beckett's simple white t-shirt and jeans combo might seem plain compared to all these women in their designer evening dresses but it didn't matter, his gaze kept straying in her direction until she'd finally ducked out of view. She's been gone now for at least half an hour, it's pitiful how he keeps looking at his watch and then scanning the room, hoping to catch her again. Rick Castle is not pitiful, this is so unlike him and he can't explain why he's behaving like this.

Why he finds her interesting is a mystery. Prickly, control freaks are definitely not his type. Sure she's beautiful – hard to miss that fact – and smart and challenging but he's not one of those guys who enjoys chasing after unavailable women, too much effort for too little gain. But for some reason he finds himself doing just that; chasing after her. And for a brief instance it looked like it had been working, despite all of her protests he'd sensed the thaw from her initially chilly demeanor. During their surfing lesion she'd been relaxed enough to give him a genuine smile but since the kiss she'd retreated back behind her wall again.

For now though he's not going to do anything about it, he's giving her the distance that she asked for. In Beckett's case absence might make the heart fonder. It had been amusing to watch her hide her annoyance with his perfectly polite responses, and when she'd sulked in the corner as he'd laid on the charm for Margie, that had been priceless. She'd thought that she was being discrete but he'd spotted the faces that she'd made behind his back in the mirror – the frowns, the hostile glares and way she'd bitten her bottom lip. He wouldn't mind biting that lip for her amongst other _pleasant_ activities.

_No! No more thinking about Beckett._

He deliberately brings his attention back to the women in the room. The _beautiful, available, and accommodating _women, all of whom were there because they're interested in yours truly. There is no need to obsess over one impossibly stubborn brunette. In fact, it's probably best if he didn't go there at all. It always ends up being a horrible mess when work and play overlap, he learned that lesson from his second marriage. He hasn't had a serious relationship since then and he's not lacked for female companionship during that time either. No fuss, no muss. That's his unofficial motto and he'd be wise to stick to it.

Castle slides back into his usual public persona as he goes about doing what he does best – charming the adoring masses.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Wow, you really know how to work a room." Jeremy, the director, congratulates Castle as he joins him on the couch in his suite. "You had them practically salivating by the end."

"Umm, thanks?" Rick reaches up and snags the end of his bow-tie, pulling it free, before undoing the top button of his shirt. It's only eleven o'clock but he's absolutely shattered. Being under the scrutiny of the cameras and maintaining a smiling facade had been tiring. All he wants to do is enjoy his scotch and then a hot shower to wash the debris of the day off before falling into bed.

"Don't be so modest." Jeremy enthuses. "Those women were ready to maul you on the spot. Don't you think so Beckett?"

Kate walks into the room, only catching the end of the conversation. "Sorry Jeremy, what were you asking?"

"I was just telling Rick that he was a hit with the women. And who can blame them? What woman wouldn't be interested in a famous, rich, good looking author?"

She sneaks a quick look at Castle who seems very interested in her answer, a smug smile on his face. "I can think of one or two," she says it dryly. "But certainly those women were receptive to Castle's charm." Her tone implies that some people have no taste though.

"Receptive? I think that that's putting it mildly, cats in heat would have been more subtle than some of those ladies. I've already had a look over some of the footage that we shot and this is going to be ratings gold." Jeremy has a good feeling about this, Castle has the perfect chemistry to carry the whole production. "If you can keep this going then we'll have the network and the advertisers offering us whatever we want."

Castle smiles, he's not too carried away by the director's unbridled enthusiasm. Through his mother's acting career he's been exposed to the dramatic, artistic types in the entertainment industry so Jeremy's hyperbolic praise is nothing new.

"So, have you chosen who you'll be taking out on individual dates tomorrow?" Jeremy asks the writer. "You'll need to give the names to Beckett so she can arrange for invitations and roses to be delivered to each woman."

The director glances over at Kate to get her attention. "We want to film each woman receiving her invite tomorrow morning, so please make sure they get them before seven. That way the lucky few will get a chance to gloat over the rest at breakfast in the dining room. The viewing public love to watch a bitchy, gloat session. Also, I need you to organize a few things for the evening date."

Beckett has her notebook and pen poised, ready to take notes.

"Make sure there's a bottle of champagne on ice for when Rick and his date arrive, candles of course and a white rose floral centerpiece on the table for the al fresco dinner. Chef Pablo will be doing the catering for all the food tomorrow, he'll need to know if there are any special dietary restrictions. Put two overnight travel-kits of toiletries in the bathroom and of course some condoms in the bedside drawers."

She's scribbling furiously to keep up with Jeremy's quick pace that the meaning of the word only occurs to her as she's finishing the last swirl of the s.

_Condoms? What the ...?_

Beckett looks up in surprise, her eyes darting over to meet Castle's. His face is a mixture of astonishment and guilt? He looks as surprised by Jeremy's statement as she is. She shouldn't be surprised though, it wasn't as if he'd signed up for this show to be a monk.

"Um, ah. Look, Jeremy ... I don't think that the ... um ... condoms ... are necessary." Rick stammers, trying hard not to glance over at Beckett, she's probably glaring daggers in his direction. Getting her to pick up condoms so that he can sex with another woman is just weird and wrong, especially after they kissed the other day. This is more awkward than the time his mother tried to have the sex talk with him when he was fourteen, by then he'd already managed to get to third base with Lisa Rubenstein from his American history class.

"No condoms? Don't you believe in safe sex?" Beckett asks him in a deadpan tone.

Even though he deliberately avoids looking at her face, he can tell that she's got that scornful look on her face, the one that says she thinks he's a juvenile Casanova, just from the dryness of her voice.

"Oh, no ... Of course condoms... safe sex is important." Castle swallows, he's in trouble and he knows it. There seems to be no way of extricating himself from this quagmire, for a writer, his words seem to have suddenly deserted him.

"Of course they're necessary," Jeremy interrupts, seemingly unaware of the tension between Castle and Beckett. "This isn't the first television dating show that I've done, trust me, the guy always get laid." He says it in a chummy kind of way, like they're two frat boys talking about girls. "The Fantasy Suite is set up to be the ultimate romantic date, women love it. An over-the-water bungalow on a private beach with an intimate, outdoor dinner looking out at the sunset. If a charming, good-looking guy like you can't get laid after all that then there's something wrong with the world. Look, this show works because sex sells, but it would be a bad look if someone ends up with a STD, the tabloids would just love that, so the condoms are a necessity. And don't worry, it's not as if there will be cameras in the bedroom. You'll have complete privacy in there for whatever activities you want to get up to."

"Umm, sure ... great, thanks?" Castle nervously plucks at his collar, what he wouldn't give for a time machine, or a cloak of invisibility so that he could escape this horribly awkward situation.

"Ok Rick, I'll leave you to get some rest. You'll need it for tomorrow," Jeremy says it with a knowing grin.

After the director leaves and it's just the two of them, Castle turns to face Beckett. He'd love to just escape to his room or pretend the last five minutes never happened but he knows that he has to say something to make it right or she'll continue to look at him like he's pond scum.

"Look Beckett, about those condoms ..."

She raises an eyebrow. "What about them Castle? Did you have some special request? Strawberry-flavoured? Ribbed? Or how about size - small?"

"Hey!" he squeaks with indignation. "Large, if you must know. But that wasn't what I was going to say."

Her face is sceptical but she shrugs her shoulders and keeps quiet, allowing him to continue.

"I was going to say that you don't have to buy them for me, that shouldn't be part of your job. If I need them then I'll buy them myself." Castle rubs his hand across the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.

"Sure, fine. Suit yourself, that's one less task on my list then," she turns to leave, dismissing him already.

"Beckett, wait please."

For some reason he feels like he owes her an apology or an explanation? It's not as if Beckett's got any claim on him or as if she even wants one – she's made that perfectly clear - but even so ...

She half turns and gives him a raised eyebrow.

"Umm ..." He has no idea what to say. It's not like he can deny that the opportunity for sex hadn't been one of his motivating factors for signing up to the show. "Never mind," he sighs in defeat.

The cop looks singularly unimpressed by his lack of eloquence. "Just leave me a list of your choices for tomorrow on the table. I'll see that it all gets organised." Her tone is impersonal and detached. They could have been talking about his grocery shopping list, she was that dispassionate. Beckett walks out leaving him alone and miserable.

Castle slumps forward, elbows resting on his knees and his hands covering his face. It isn't meant to be like this. When Paula, his agent, had come to him with the offer it had sounded like fun. A tropical island and the opportunity to date 10 women simultaneously. All of the women had signed up for it so there would be no jealous tantrums or accusations that he was being a cheating bastard. He's not in a relationship, and they're all consenting adults. Really he's got nothing to feel guilty about, nothing at all.

So why does he still feel like a complete jerk?

* * *

_Richard Castle requests the pleasure of your company for an intimate beach-side dinner..._

At six-thirty Beckett slips the silver-embossed cards under the doors of the selected contestants. No doubt there'll be squealing and giggling when the chosen three wake up and receive their invites, as well as bitching and jealous glances from the other women. The cameras will, of course, be rolling and ready to capture every second of it.

The women that he's picked are all clones of each other - tall, leggy, busty (to the point of being obviously fake in one case) and shades of blonde or strawberry-blonde. It's evident that Castle has a type - she's clearly not it. Beckett mentally shrugs away her irritation at that thought, she's undercover to nab a murderer and bust a drug ring, her only interest in Castle is how he pertains to her case.

Kate grabs a bran muffin off the sideboard that they keep stacked for the crew instead of joining Castle for breakfast, no more shared meals, it's strictly work only. She's barely gets a chance to sit down in the editing room to enjoy her second coffee of the day when a high-pitched scream echoes down the corridor causing her to spill the hot liquid onto her top.

"Frigging hell!" Beckett pulls the damp material away from her skin, blowing cold air over her chest to cool the burn. She spares a quick glance at the nearby electronics, fortunately none of it got splashed.

Judging from the excited dancing that Beckett can see on the bank of television monitors it seems as if at least one of the women has discovered her invitation and she seems pretty happy about it, hence the screaming and carrying on. That first scream acts like a wake-up call for the other contestants and soon there's heads popping out from open doors, looking either disappointed or smug and superior if they're one of the _lucky_ three.

The cattiness that ensues over breakfast is astonishing, it's as if these women aren't at all concerned about how their behaviour might be viewed by others. No wonder some people get hooked on watching reality television, it's like that slow-moving train wreck that you can't help but be morbidly fascinated by. Beckett doesn't have time though to watch the drama unfolding, she's got a long list of tasks to do today if all Castle's dates are to go off without a hitch.

In fact, she's so busy that she manages to avoid the writer for most of the day, between her jobs and his morning and afternoon dates she's barely seen Castle for more than ten minutes by the time the car service comes to pick him up for the evening.

Beckett knocks on his door, intending to just pass on the message and leave quickly but he unexpectedly opens it before she can escape.

"Hey Castle. Your ride is here ..." she takes in his attire, he's still wearing the same cargo pants and shirt that he had on for his afternoon date, "... and you're not ready."

"Oh crap," he glances down at his watch, he's late, he's really late. "I'm on Skype with Alexis and I must have lost track of the time. How long have I got?"

"You're meant to have left five minutes ago, at this rate you might be standing her up."

"Sorry Alexis, I've got to go but you can talk to Beckett for a bit. I love you Pumpkin," Castle shoves his tablet into Beckett's hands and starts unbuttoning his shirt even as he races for the shower. "Can you tell them I'll only be five minutes, ten minutes max?" he asks over his shoulder. "Thanks Beckett."

She looks down with bemusement at the image of the girl who is grinning up from the screen. "Umm, hi Alexis."

"Hi Beckett, I've heard so much about you from Dad already. I hope he's been behaving himself. He can be a bit of a handful sometimes."

_He's talked to his daughter about her? Interesting._

"I'm not sure if I'd call it good behaviour but your Dad is certainly a handful."

"Hey I heard that," his muffled voice calls out from the bathroom. "No ganging up on the poor male."

Alexis laughs as Beckett rolls her eyes and the detective finds herself laughing as well, two women sharing their exasperation at the antics of the man-child.

"So, how was LA?"

"Sunny, warm, fun and hectic. As much as I love visiting my Mom, I'm also glad for a chance to recover once it's over. You might not believe it but, out of my parents, Dad is the more responsible one." Alexis smiles fondly, there's no doubting the genuine affection between father and daughter.

"Wow, you're right, that is hard to believe. So what are you up to now?" Beckett asks her.

"I'm sitting in the departure lounge at LAX. My plane is boarding soon and Dad was keeping me amused while I'm waiting."

"So you're headed back to New York?"

"Yes, my friend Paige and her Mom are meeting me there and then we're off to Science Camp tomorrow for three weeks. Oh, that's my boarding call. I have to go Beckett but it was really nice to meet you. Bye."

"Same here Alexis, have a safe trip."

She hangs up the call and then powers off his tablet, leaving it on the table. Whatever his faults, Castle seems to be raising a pretty good kid.

True to his word he comes back into the room only five minutes later, finger-combing his hair with one hand even as he shrugs into his Hugo Boss jacket.

_Oh my word._

He looks good, put-on-a-plate-and-devour-in-one-bite good. The blue of the shirt matches his eyes and cut of the jacket emphasizes his broad shoulders.

Her gaze skittles away from him as she looks for something more neutral. "Alexis had to go, her plane was boarding. Are you ready?"

He's patting down his pockets, making sure that he has everything so he doesn't notice her avoidance. "Yeah, see you later Beckett," he calls out even as he's leaving, still rushing because he's behind schedule.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," she says it softly although he's already left and there's no way he'll hear her, tomorrow because he's spending tonight with someone else.

* * *

Kate rolls over in bed and punches her fist into the pillow, then plumps it up again to support her neck in a better position. For some reason she just can't get comfortable. She should be tired, it's after midnight and she's had a long day. Normally falling asleep is not a problem, she's even managed to catch a few hours of rest on the lumpy couch in the precinct break-room when there's been a particularly difficult case and she hadn't made it home. So why can't she fall asleep on this very nice king bed with the high thread-count cotton sheets?

She refuses to admit that her insomnia has anything to do with a certain writer and the activities that he might be getting up to tonight in the privacy of the bedroom of the Fantasy Suite.

_Fantasy Suite! Huh! More like the Fuck Shack!_

They might as well call it what it really is. She flops onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

It doesn't bother her, of course. If Castle wants to have sex with every single contestant on this show and demonstrate to the world exactly what kind of philandering jerk he is then he should just go straight ahead and do it. Nope, it doesn't bother her at all.

**A/N: Apologies for the long delay between updates. I've been on holiday but I promise to have another chapter up by the end of this Sunday to make up for it.  
**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Jacinta Sawyer is not accustomed to failure. She's a successful property developer from Atlanta and you don't get to manage twenty-million dollar developments by taking no as an answer. There are always different approaches, little swerves or alternative ways of couching the question if your first attempt is rebuffed. So tonight is an exercise in frustration for her.

She studies the man across the table from her. He's said all the right things, made all the right moves but the salesperson inside her tells her that he's not going to go through with the deal at the end of the night. Maybe it's time to bring out the girls, let him know exactly what's in it for him. Jacinta leans forward, giving him an unimpeded view straight down the front of her dress and a very impressive cleavage.

Castle's eyes widen slightly, appreciative of the sight that is a testament to the skill of the dressmaker. Any further forward and Jacinta would be experiencing what the entertainment industry referred to as a costume malfunction. The thin material could only defy gravity for so long. He's seen a lot of female chests and signed more than a few, Jacinta's is definitely up there, top twenty at least.

Tonight's date, in fact, all his dates today have been nice. Three beautiful women, interesting if superficial conversations and enough mutual flattery to keep his ego super-sized. These women are much more his scene, exactly the kind of women he's dated in the past.

_Huh, see this Beckett? There are some women who actually think he's a bit of a catch, women who don't turn him down at every opportunity._

Jacinta has already made it clear that she wouldn't be averse to sharing the Fantasy Suite with him tonight. He got an inkling that she might be interested earlier when she _accidentally_ let her breasts brush against his arm as he helped her out of the car. It's confirmed when her fingers hook into the back pocket of his trousers as they walk along the beach, admiring the sunset as her fingers admired his tight ass. And now she's issuing a full-on declaration of intent by sending her bare foot tracing up the inside of his thigh under the cover of the table. She couldn't be any clearer unless she stripped naked and lay down in front of him.

"Are you ready for dessert?" Jacinta's tone implies that she's not talking about the food.

Eep! Castle jerks back in his chair, his hand dislodging the northward progression of her foot. "Umm, yes?" his voice squeaks in a distinctly unmanly way. "I hear that Chef Pablo's deconstructed strawberry and pomegranate cheesecake is to die for." Rick smiles nervously, deliberately misconstruing her question. He knows exactly how a gazelle feels on the savannah as it's being eyed up by some hungry lion, this woman is definitely a hunting cat.

"How about another glass of champagne?" He holds the bottle up as it's a barrier for him to cower behind. It's the second bottle of the night, it's almost empty and he's hardly had a drop of alcohol. Yes, he's trying to get her drunk but it's not because he wants to get her into his bed, in fact, he's hoping for the opposite. Maybe if he's lucky, she'll pass out and he can sneak out with all his parts intact.

Jacinta makes a moue of disappointment but holds out her empty glass for a top-up. For a guy, who regularly has his face splashed across page six of the tabloids with various beautiful women, Rick Castle is playing hard to get.

Castle keeps up a babble of inane conversation, hoping to distract his date but, judging from the predatory gleam in Jacinta's eyes, she's just biding her time. "Mmm, this cheesecake is really good," he says after a bite of the creamy concoction. In reality, Rick's hardly tasted his food at all, he's been too busy trying to avoid being groped.

Jacinta's never had a man say no to her before and she's not about to break that record, that's not arrogance, it's the truth. Unless there's a reason for why he's so reticent...

"Rick, are you gay?"

He coughs and splutters, almost snorting the cheesecake out his nose in surprise at the question. "No. No!" He denies it. "Wh ...wh...why? Why would you even ask me that question? Not that there's anything wrong with being gay."

"You just seem to be ..." she pauses and shrugs, "...reluctant."

"Oh no, definitely heterosexual and there's no reluctance here," he blusters. "It's just I'm not an exhibitionist." He looks pointed at the cameras that are positioned around the room, using that as an excuse.

"Well in that case, let's move the party somewhere private then." Jacinta smiles, she doesn't, for a second, consider the possibility that he might not be interested in what she's offering. She stands and moves around to his side of the table, she wraps her hand around his tie and tugs on it to pull him up to his feet. "Don't worry Rick, I'll be gentle." She says over her shoulder, pulling him behind like a dog on a leash as she guides him to the bedroom.

* * *

Beckett finally gives up on sleep, all that she's achieved by staying in bed is a good impression of a washing machine with the way she's been tossing and turning. Insomnia is, unfortunately, not a new companion. There have been times before when her mind is too busy for her body to shut down and just rest, usually it's due to frustration with a case that just won't crack.

Yes, that's probably her problem now. Beckett refuses to admit that her reasons for frustration are purely personal and not professional. No, it's because she's achieved nothing by going undercover. She's been kept so busy by her supposed job, as an assistant, that she's hardly had any time to do any investigating. Yes, she's met Frank Curran but she's no closer to pinning Pritchard's murder on Curran or his hired muscle than if she'd stayed in New York.

Kate sits up in bed, swings her legs over the side and gets to her feet. She snags a robe from the end of the bed, slips her arms into the terry cloth material and shuffles out of the bedroom. Maybe a hot drink will relax her enough to let sleep come, maybe some chamomile tea but definitely not any coffee. Beckett rubs at her eyes, fumbling in the dark as she searches for the light switch in the sitting room. It comes on with an incandescent ferocity that leaves her temporarily blinded and the sight that greets her has her blinking in confusion.

"Uh ... Castle?"

He freezes in place, caught by his bedroom door like some errant teenager sneaking home after curfew. "Oh, hi Beckett." He gives her a half-hearted wave.

"What are you doing here?" she quizzes him.

He doesn't know if he can explain it. Hell, he can't even believe it himself. Jacinta had been waiting for him on the bed, exactly the kind of beautiful, uncomplicated woman that he'd hoped for and what had he done? He'd hidden in the bathroom like a reluctant virgin until she'd finally fallen asleep, either from boredom or too much alcohol, and then he'd snuck out of there and come back here to spend the night in his solitary bed. He'd have to hand in his guy card, he's wimped out.

"Umm, I thought I might go to bed?" he says, hoping that she won't question him any further.

Her raised eyebrow puts paid to that hope. As if she'd let him get away with that pathetic answer. "Well yes, but why are you going to sleep _here_?" Beckett says it slowly as if he was mentally impaired. "Aren't you meant to be spending the night at the beach in the Fantasy Suite with your dream date?" she asks with a sarcastic tone.

Rick shrugs. "It turns out that she wasn't a dream date after all, not really my type." Which is kind of true, Jacinta isn't his type _now_ but even just a week ago she would have been exactly the kind of woman that he'd be happy to sleep with.

"Was it performance anxiety?" Beckett smirks.

"No! I've never had any complaints about my _performance_," he emphasizes the last word with a cocky grin. Time to turn defence into offense, he's found that the best way to distract someone from their line of questioning is to start asking questions of his own. "What are you doing up at this time of night Beckett? Couldn't sleep because you missed me?"

"Of course not," she scoffs. "I ...um... heard a noise and I came out to see what was going on. You were a bit loud when you came in."

Except he hadn't been loud at all and they both know it. He grins, letting her know that he's aware of her little lie.

"Well good night Castle." Kate makes a move to retreat back to her room.

"Until tomorrow Beckett."

She pulls the door shut softly behind her and leans back against wood. Castle has managed to surprise her, and she doesn't surprise very easily. The fact that he didn't jump at the opportunity to have meaningless sex is ... _unexpected._ Beckett isn't fully conscious of the small smile on her face at that thought. Suddenly Kate feels tired and this time she thinks that sleep won't be so elusive.


End file.
